Uryuu's Notebook
by lpdrunknmunky
Summary: Uryuu carries a special notebook full of things he really shouldn't be writing about a certain classmate.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Uryuu's Notebook  
Pairing: Uryuu/Ichigo  
Rating: NC-17/M  
Warnings: m/m sex, drama, some language, awkward teenagers  
Summary: Uryuu carries a special notebook full of things he really shouldn't be writing about a certain classmate.  
AN: Here's a crazy little plot bunny that sprang up and demanded to be written one random day: what if Uryuu wrote lemons about Ichigo? Yeah, you know you've thought about it, too. This is set after the current arc (spoilers!) with some assumptions about how it'll resolve between Ichigo and Uryuu after this supposed betrayal business. Knowing Kubo, he'll probably end up making Uryuu a damn martyr or something, geez. But my assumption for this fic is that they will basically go back to the way they always are after they beat the bad guys: casual friends.

I can't promise this will be updated as quickly as I have other stories in the past. This one is not quite finished (it's about 3/4 done right now) but I will definitely not be abandoning it. I'm working on wrapping it up as soon as possible but I wanted to go ahead and start posting while I have the time.

* * *

 **I**

 _Eyes dark and intense on mine, K. inched a hand down his chest and popped the snaps open one by one while I watched. When he reached the final one, I swallowed. His chest was magnificent: all rigid lines and thin scars showcasing his strength and experience. He smiled at the flustered look on my face, letting lips curl wickedly as his fingers unbuckled his belt and yanked it out in one fluid motion. I opened my mouth to speak just as he slipped the button of his pants undone._

 _"_ _What are you doing, K.?"_

 _"_ _What do you think? How do you want it, I.?"_

"What're you writing so furiously over here, Ishida?"

"K-Kurosaki!" Uryuu gasps, slamming his notebook closed before the boy's nosiness gets them both into trouble. "None of your damned business! Don't you know it's rude to read someone else's notes?"

"Whoa, whoa," he placates with raised brows. "All right, forget I asked. Sheesh."

"Anyway, what do you want?"

"I just wanted to ask if you're doing anything tonight."

" _What_!?"

The outburst gets the attention of their classmates.

Heart racing, Uryuu wills himself not to start sweating. The last thing he needs is to give himself away with biological indications of the stress he shouldn't be feeling right now. Yet, having Kurosaki Ichigo come up and ask if he's free is a rare enough occurrence that it has Uryuu panicking a little bit. They barely talk to each other outside of the battlefield these days, so why should he want to talk now? The last time this happened it was just sewing a plushy, but something tells him this is different.

Could it be that Kurosaki caught a glimpse of his writings and is looking for a confrontation? That thought shoots another amp of adrenaline into his blood; it's all he can do to keep from panting. It's not that he habitually writes erotic fiction during study period at school…it's just that lately he's been having issues that he works through by writing about them. Those issues may or may not have something to do with the Idiot Shinigami standing in front of his desk right now.

Okay, so maybe he writes quite a bit; just usually not at school where he can get caught.

"Well, we have that exam this Friday and I don't know if you noticed but I've been fighting Hollows pretty much every damn day for the past week, so I'm a little behind. Soul Society is trying to send someone to help with the spike lately, but...They're mostly low-level anyway." Frowning like it cost him to admit it, Kurosaki shifts his feet and scratches the back of his head in discomfort. "I'm sure you know all of this; you never needed a cell phone to tell you when they pop up. Anyway, I could use some help studying."

"I'm sure Inoue-san would be more than happy to—"

"She's going on a date with Chad tonight and to a movie with Tatsuki tomorrow."

"Oh."

"And there's no one else I know who might be able to tutor someone, so…please, Ishida? I'll pay you back. Buy you lunch?"

Uryuu adjusts his glasses to cover the soft blush that springs to his cheeks because he just pictured Kurosaki buying lunch for him and thanking him for help with schoolwork. It's so normal and quaint that it tugs at a weird spot in his gut. A couple of years ago Kurosaki would have demanded his help and followed Uryuu around, nagging until he finally caved. The fact that he's been showing consideration more and more often lately is unnerving.

"I refuse."

"What? Why?" Kurosaki groans, frown growing petulant. "Come on, Ishida, you're my last hope."

"I have far too many things to better spend my time doing than instructing morons too lazy to study outside of class."

With that, Uryuu gathers his things and stands from the desk. It is close enough to the end of school that no one will care if he foregoes the last few minutes of the day. Besides, a reprimand would be preferable to dealing with the glare Kurosaki seems keen on fixing him with. He sidesteps the fuming boy and strides out of the room with his usual level of poise. Right before he deems himself safe, however, he hears heavy footfalls echoing his lighter ones in the hall.

"You make it sound like all I do is sit around and watch TV all day," Kurosaki growls low so they won't be overheard from students in other classrooms. "You know better than anyone how much time I have to spend fighting for this town! I will seriously fail if I don't learn this stuff fast. Can't you do this one thing for me? When have I ever asked you for anything?"

"Since when did you become such a nagging woman, Kurosaki?" he coolly responds.

He takes the stairs at a jaunty trot in the hopes that he will gain some distance between them, to no avail. Kurosaki trails him all the way out of the building. Uryuu glances back to confirm that the boy remembered to grab his own bag before chasing after him. Which means he's planning to be even more stubborn about this than usual.

"What's so important that you don't have an hour to spare for a friend? If I help you, then you'll have time to help me, right?"

"Let's get one thing straight." Uryuu halts so fast that Kurosaki bumps into him. Shoving him off, Uryuu narrows his gaze and looks straight at the boy's baffled expression. "We are not now, nor have we ever been friends, Kurosaki. How many times must I reiterate before you accept it?"

"Fuck that."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Planting the hand that isn't holding his bag on a hip, Kurosaki stares right back at him and raises his voice in annoyance. "How many years have we been fighting together and you're going to try and say we're not friends? Even if we don't hang out that much because _someone_ likes to pretend he's too busy. That's bullshit. So 'reiterate' all you like, Ishida, I'm never accepting it."

Uryuu rolls his eyes and resumes a purposeful stride towards the promised solace of his empty apartment. Not for the first time, he is grateful to have his own place, even if it is small and minimally-furnished.

"I still refuse. Anyway, my tasks aren't something that anyone else can help with," he grumbles, thinking of the story he has been trying to finish for the past three days. "So take the hint already and find someone else."

Kurosaki stews about this for another few minutes of brisk walking. They are already halfway to his place and he shows no signs of relenting. Uryuu starts to get worried when he realizes that the way this is headed will result in Kurosaki knowing where he lives. It's bad enough he had to give the boy his cell number when he finally got one last semester. Much less inviting the possibility that he will randomly show up to bug him.

A firm hand claps onto his shoulder; Uryuu jolts and freezes. Turning his head, he follows that hand up an arm to see Kurosaki's pitiful pout. This transition from righteous anger to a naked entreaty startles him enough to shut his mouth when he knows he should start yelling.

"Look, I don't know what I did to irritate you this time, but this is really important. It sounds dumb making a big deal over one exam but the truth is I'm really behind. If I don't start picking up my grades I might actually flunk out of high school." He sighs then, lifting the grasp on Uryuu to rub at his own forehead in mental weariness. "My dad would really kick my ass if that happened, so…please, Ishida."

There it is again. Uryuu can't recall a single moment in their long acquaintance that resulted in those two words being strung together. Now not only once, but twice in one argument. A tingle of guilt arcs through his chest and Uryuu wants to hit him. Why should he care whether Kurosaki flunks out of school or not? They're not friends, damn it!

Kurosaki's eyes widen a fraction as Uryuu makes a fist at his side. He glances up to meet Uryuu's eyes in a shocked question. Looking so vulnerable and confused. Damn him.

"Fine!" he snaps, releasing his fist and pivoting on a heel to head for his apartment. "Come on."

"Really!?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Kurosaki."

"Y-yeah," he hastily agrees, jogging to catch up with Uryuu's militant pace. "Thanks, Ishida."

Muttering darkly to himself, Uryuu ignores the fizzy bubble his grateful tone inspires. He knows he will regret this later, if only for the extra ogling he will get to do, fueling his unhealthy physical attraction to the fool. Seriously, why couldn't he prefer someone less brash and careless? More refined and dignified like Kuchiki Byakuya or maybe Hirako Shinji? He would have zero problems lusting after them since he rarely sees them day-to-day. Wanting an off-limits classmate who potentially follows you home for forced tutoring is not conducive to a stable psyche.

The rest of the walk home is brief enough that the silence is not awkward. Though the minute they step over the threshold and shed their shoes, Uryuu feels his shoulders tighten incrementally. He watches Kurosaki look around and tries not to recall the various fantasies he's had, the sordid scenes he has written about this boy being in his domain. Against the wall, on the floor, over his desk…

 _"_ _Do you know how crazy you drive me," K. growled and grabbed my hips. "Ignoring me at school like that?"_

 _"_ _You deserve it."_

 _"_ _I'll show you what I deserve, I."_

 _With trademark speed and strength, he swiped an arm across my desk and dislodged all the books and office supplies there. Then he spun me at the waist and forced me to bend over the desk. Arms braced on the dark, cool wood I bit my lip as he dragged firm hands down my back and over my ass. I couldn't hold back a small moan as he took a step forward to grind his erection into me. My fingernails scraped into the smooth surface when he leaned close to rub a hand down my stomach and lower, the heat of his palm settling over my—_

"Nice place," Kurosaki blithely comments, plopping onto Uryuu's two-seater sofa. "Cozy."

"Don't pander. It's a dump."

"I wasn't pandering—"

"What do you need to learn?" Uryuu interrupts. His temper is short and he wants to get Kurosaki out of this space as soon as possible, before his reiatsu can infuse the place for weeks. Just being alone in the same room as him piques Uryuu's interest in the most primitive part of his brain. He pulls out a stack of textbooks and slams them onto his coffee table. "The exam is in calculus, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"How far behind are you?"

Flipping violently through the thick book, Uryuu glances up when Kurosaki doesn't answer after several seconds. He is staring at Uryuu as if he can't quite figure him out. Good, he thinks. The less Kurosaki understands about him, the better.

"Do you have anything to drink first? I forgot to bring juice for lunch today and I'm really thirsty."

"This isn't a restaurant. This is my home and I don't want you in it any longer than necessary. So hurry up and tell me which parts you need to review."

"You know what? Never mind. I think I'll just go."

With a shallow frown, Kurosaki stands and walks towards the door. The thing that has Uryuu sighing to himself and following is the air of defeat that surrounds Kurosaki. Worse than anger is the apparent hurt he chooses to take from Uryuu's brusqueness. Again, he reminds himself that they are not friends and that he should not care one way or the other how Kurosaki feels about anything. Yet he slaps a hand to his door just before Kurosaki opens it.

"Wait."

And they are too close. Kurosaki's scent and reiatsu flare out from his body and Uryuu's blood burns a little hotter. He keeps his eyes off the boy's figure by force of habit alone. The self-restraint costs him precious seconds which have Kurosaki appraising him uncertainly.

"What? You want me to leave, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then move your hand and I will."

"No."

"Which is it, Ishida?" he says, taking a step closer as an aggressive gesture. It has the opposite effect. The warmth of Kurosaki's ire joins the other two sensations plaguing him. Add that to the decreased proximity which defeats his attempts at keeping his attention elsewhere and Uryuu is struggling. "You want me to stay or you want me to go?"

"Both! Neither! I don't know."

He can't think. He's too busy fighting off visions of what would normally happen next in one of his stories. Kurosaki gets pissy and confrontational so often that he can't _not_ write that aspect of him into the plot lines most of the time. In an ideal world, Kurosaki would get a stroke of insight about why Uryuu is being so indecisive. He would finally recognize the subtle signals Uryuu's body inadvertently sends out whenever Kurosaki is near him. Then he would realize his own attraction to Uryuu and do something impulsive—as he tends to—like pushing him against the wall and kissing the sense out of him.

But this isn't one of his stories and Kurosaki continues to stand there giving him that look like he's not sure Uryuu hasn't recently escaped from the mental ward.

"Ishida?"

"Sit down."

Pausing at that, Kurosaki is clearly unsure. In the end, he has too much to lose by acting on his pride so he does as he is told and returns to the couch. Uryuu joins him with a stiff spine. His mind is full of what-ifs and if-onlys that threaten to drive him as mad as Kurosaki now suspects he may be. This is exactly why he spends as little time around Kurosaki as humanly possible.

"Integration," Kurosaki mumbles after a moment. "And matrices. I need help with those the most."

Uryuu nods once and flips to the relevant chapter, instructing him to read the formulas listed in the highlighted box. Kurosaki obediently takes the text and he gets up to wander into the kitchen. Uryuu comes back out with two glasses of iced tea and wordlessly hands one to his reluctant guest.

"The hardest thing about calculus is memorizing the complex formulae, assuming you can handle the basic arithmetic," he begins when Kurosaki opens his mouth to thank him for the drink. He doesn't need to hear it. "So if you can remember how these integers plug into these variables, you shouldn't have much trouble. The rest is left to your graphing calculator. Do you have it set to radians?"

He does his best to tune everything else out and just go into teacher-mode. Taking turns lecturing and asking questions, then solving some simple example problems has them on their way. About an hour later, Kurosaki is confident he can pass the upcoming exam. Uryuu admits to himself that he is impressed. The material is not simple but Kurosaki seems to be grasping it quickly.

So surprised by this apparent lack of true idiocy is he that they get carried away with it. Intending to only study for an hour becomes two, which turns into nearly three. When Kurosaki correctly solves a problem so complicated that it would only be on a university exam, Uryuu finally slips up and comments on it.

"I see your aptitude for growth in battle extends to your studies after all."

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, he straightens. Uryuu had not intended to compliment Kurosaki. Ever. Since one leads to two leads to 'I think you're so fucking hot that if you asked me to suck you off right now, I'd get on my knees'. That thought combines with the pleased smile Kurosaki shows him and Uryuu chokes on his own tongue. What happened to the arrogant Kurosaki who would have frowned and insulted Uryuu for daring to praise him?

"Yeah, I normally don't have trouble, but when I have zero time to study and I'm having to skip class besides…"

"Yes, well. Doesn't change the fact that you lack strategic insight, prudence, and common sense."

He puts as much ice into his tone as he can muster under the thaw of Kurosaki's radiant presence, but the boy only chuckles at him. Uryuu has to wonder when he stopped being able to bait the boy into a shouting match with a simple snarky line. Too many things have changed since the Winter War's end. Then Kurosaki's stomach grumbles. They both fall silent as he blushes lightly. Uryuu wants to smack him and kiss him at the same time. As usual.

"Do you want to order take-out or something? My treat."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I figured you might be hungry, too, since we've been at it for so long."

"Speaking of that, don't you think it's time you stopped leeching off my intellect and went home already?"

"Actually, I was thinking about that quiz we have in geography tomorrow."

"Kurosaki…"

"Do you like orange chicken?"

"I am not your personal tutor."

"I know that. But while we're here, might as well make the most of it, right? Plus, everyone knows that teaching others solidifies what you've recently learned."

While Uryuu simmers at his audacity, Kurosaki pulls out his phone and googles a nearby delivery restaurant, then calls and places a quick order. When he's done he turns to Uryuu and smirks, as if to say, 'so there'.

"Remember those things I said I needed to do?" Uryuu reminds as he glares. "I still need to do them."

"I'll still help you."

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because…it's not…because you just can't," he yells, flinging his arms out emphatically. He hits one of their glasses of tea and sends it flying. Straight into Kurosaki's lap. "Shit."

"At least it isn't hot," Kurosaki calmly says, retrieving the empty cup and setting it on the table.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know."

"Take off your pants." Both of them go rigid at that. Uryuu barely resists the urge to slap a palm to his forehead. He locks it down before it sets him stuttering. "So I can clean them."

"You have a washing machine?"

"No, but I have soap and a sink and two hands. Hurry up, before it stains. Bathroom is down the hall on the left."

"Yeah, okay."

Kurosaki stands slowly, trying not to shake more of the dark liquid onto the sofa and carpet. Truthfully, Uryuu could care less about them as they are already in a sad state; he doesn't exactly get a hefty allowance but at least he doesn't have to live with Ryuuken anymore. He watches Kurosaki find the restroom and shut himself inside it. Then he tries very, very hard not to picture what he is doing in there. Unfortunately, he has written a few too many strip-tease scenes to keep his thoughts pure now. A lamenting groan bursts free as he collapses against the cushion behind him.

No matter how many times he thinks about Kurosaki stripping, it never loses any of its appeal.

 _Shrugging out of his over-shirt, K. looked over his shoulder at me and blinked slowly. The whisper of fabric over his skin was audible in the silence between us, that stunned silence he always put me into. K. trailed his fingers along the hem of his undershirt before flipping the edges up a few centimeters. Teasing me. The leisurely stretch of cotton shifting upward drew my eyes like he knew it had to. He pulled the article all the way off and dropped it behind his back—that incredible expanse I was staring at so intently. I heard the zip and he hooked his thumbs into his jeans, pulling only enough to expose the twin dimples just above his rear._

 _K. strutted over to me then and took my hands in his to push at his pants together. Awed at the sight of him being unwrapped for me, I followed the piece of clothing down, sinking to my knees in front of him. He grinned down at me and licked his lips._

 _"_ _Well, what are you waiting for, I.? Let's—"_

"Fuck," Uryuu moans as those familiar images assail him.

"Hey, Ishida?"

"What?" he snaps, surging upright. "What's so hard about taking…off…"

He completely loses his train of thought because Kurosaki is standing in front of him with damp orange boxer-briefs and a uniform shirt open over a black tank top. Idly, he thinks the shade of Kurosaki's underwear very closely matches his hair, where tea doesn't stain it darker. Maybe it's the color of his hair when it's wet. Or the color of his—oh, gods, his happy trail. Uryuu can see part of it just above his waistband where his tank rides up a few centimeters.

"It's on my shirts, too. Kind of sticky. Can I use your shower?"

"Yuh-erm—Yes."

"Do you have a towel I can borrow?"

"Hall cabinet."

"Cool. I'll leave my clothes outside the door."

Uryuu swallows back the excess saliva and commands himself to snap out of it. Things are going to get very weird if he doesn't get himself under control! Suddenly the reason why he must keep his attraction a secret comes to mind. Aside from the facts that Kurosaki is a Shinigami, is not Uryuu's friend, and is a total idiot—in theory—there is the little matter of his sexual preference. Which he has on good authority is: not males. Actually, Uryuu heard that he asked Inoue-san out but that she turned him down and started dating Sado-kun instead. So if he catches wind of Uryuu's inappropriate desires he may run screaming, die laughing, or start swinging. Either way, it's bound to be highly unpleasant.

Which is why Uryuu spends a tense ten minutes pacing the room and inwardly repeating a mantra: 'I will not lust after Kurosaki, I _will not_ lust after Kurosaki'.

It doesn't work. In between repetitions of the short phrase, images of the boy swiping swaths of white foam over his tan skin flash through his fevered brain like a pornographic slideshow. Water sluicing down and flattening that wild hair, caressing the angles of his tall form. Kurosaki tipping his head back to rinse the shampoo, exposing a long neck and prominent Adam's apple. Wide hands slipping easily over his own flesh. All of this is happening in his shower right now.

"Holy mother of—"

Invocation interrupted by a knock on the door, Uryuu skitters across the room to answer it. It is the delivery of their meal. Uryuu pays and thanks the cheerful woman, then tosses the bag of boxes onto the coffee table with a passive-aggressive growl. Kurosaki's stupid confidence and stubbornness making impositions when Uryuu should be spending this time in self-therapy of one sort or another.

The notion of self-therapy has him wondering why Kurosaki is taking so long. If the food is already here he must have been in the restroom longer than Uryuu realized. Shrugging it off, he strolls down the hall to collect the man's clothes and wash them as promised. Outside the door, he bends to retrieve them. He hears an odd sound. Kind of like a grunt and a sigh smashed together.

Immediately fleeing, he shakes his head and tells himself he's imagining things again. There's no chance Kurosaki is doing anything like _that_ in his shower. Mostly because if he was Uryuu would spontaneously combust from the amount of heat such a reality would generate. It's not possible. It can't be possible.

He drops the clothes into the sink and flips on the tap to begin cleaning them. Sprinkling detergent over the fabric, he gets some of his frustration out as he vigorously scrubs. By some miracle, Kurosaki has elected to hang onto his underwear instead of putting them out with the rest of his things to be washed. Probably thinking, like any normal teenager, that having a friend cleaning your undies is too weird. Whatever the reason Uryuu is thankful for small mercies.

After he finishes rinsing and wringing them out he pins them to dry on the line running across his small patio. Something else occurs to him. Kurosaki can't very well wear a sopping wet uniform any more than he can wear a tea-soaked one. He'll have to borrow something of Uryuu's until they're dry. He'd be lying if he claimed he's never written about that, too. Uryuu pushes that thought firmly aside and goes back into his living room. To find Kurosaki sitting on the couch eating out of one of the boxes with nothing but a towel around his waist.

Aneurism. He's going to have an aneurism.

"Do you mind if I borrow—"

"Yes! I mean no. I-I'll get you an outfit."

Sparing himself a frazzled half-minute to hyperventilate in his closet, Uryuu emerges with loose-fitting lounge pants and a stretched-out t-shirt he hasn't gotten around to throwing away. He holds them out to Kurosaki while looking resolutely in the opposite direction. His lips are pursed into a severe line and his eyes are three different degrees of twitchy but he can't do anything about it. It's his own fault for flinging tea onto the boy in the first place.

Kurosaki thanks him and swiftly changes in the bathroom. Uryuu is standing in the exact same spot when he returns and picks up his half-full container to finish. His eyes are on Uryuu, curious and maybe a little worried. He wants to tell Kurosaki to mind his own business and stop _staring_ but he's too busy restraining his reaction to seeing the boy in his clothes. Being slightly more filled-out, Kurosaki's form barely fits into the tight garments. Uryuu can see far too much definition beneath the thin fabric. Plus, he's smelling like Uryuu's soap and sprawled so comfortably on his couch.

"You gonna eat, or…?"

"Mn."

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"Because you're not usually this helpful and quiet at the same time," Kurosaki elaborates, finishing his current box and grabbing another. Uryuu sits as far from him as possible and nibbles some chicken, chancing a look at him. "Normally you'd be bitching about how big of a pain in your ass I am."

Poor choice of words. Coughing on his tiny bite of food, Uryuu swallows harshly and sips at the remaining glass of tea, which he belatedly recalls as being Kurosaki's. Dear gods, kill him now. This all seemed so much easier to deal with when he was almost sixteen, before he'd had over two years of compounded lust mixed in.

"Maybe I'm all out of energy to battle your constant efflux of annoying habits."

"Or maybe you finally realized how much easier it is to be nice to people."

"You're not 'people', Kurosaki."

"So you're saying it's just me? You have the energy to be rude to everyone else but me?"

"No one else drains my reserves like you do," he grumbles after swallowing another mouthful.

Kurosaki laughs. "Well, I might have to drain you more often if it means you'll be this manageable. I like an Ishida who drills me for hours without complaint and lends me clothes when he makes a mess of mine!"

Uryuu blushes. He absolutely cannot repress it. Even though Kurosaki clearly didn't intend those implications for his words, they're there nonetheless. Talking about draining Uryuu and liking him, drilling and making messes. He can't. He just _can't_.

"Kurosaki," he eventually breathes past his mortification. And the rice that almost gets lodged in his trachea. "I think you should go."

"Huh? Why?" Honestly perplexed, he lowers his chopsticks and frowns at Uryuu. "It was just a joke. I won't actually make a habit of irritating you more than usual. Although I was serious about the rest of it. Hey, are you blushing?"

"N-no! Of course not. Why would I be—?"

"That's what I want to know," he says with a quirked eyebrow. "Because you clearly are. Is it because I gave you a compliment instead of an insult for a change?"

"You've got the wrong idea here, Kurosaki."

"Then correct me."

"No."

"No?" The incredulous huff startles Uryuu. "The hell do you mean ' _no'_?"

"I don't have to answer to you!" Uryuu yells, standing suddenly and tossing his container to the table. It spews rice like fireworks on impact but he doesn't care. He points an accusatory finger at Kurosaki and lets himself rant. "What gives you the right to demand things from me? Making me tutor and feed you and even lending my clothes. It's not like I owe you! If anything, your sorry ass owes _me_ for saving it so many times."

"Ishida…"

"Who asked you to pass judgment on me? It's my choice whether or not I want to be nice to anyone—and for your information I am nice to _everyone but you_ , Kurosaki, because I can't stand you! How many times do I have to say it?" Winded from the force of so much emotion expelled at once, Uryuu takes quick breaths as he strides to his door and yanks it open. "Get out!"

Kurosaki's confused face instantly closes at the command. Dropping the box and utensils just as messily, Kurosaki stands and makes a beeline for what Uryuu hopes is the door. No luck. He slams the door shut and looms, effectively trapping Uryuu in the corner between the wall and the door. _Not again_ , he mentally groans. It was bad enough mere hours ago when he was keeping Kurosaki from leaving. Now the boy is refusing to leave and the reversal is not appreciated.

"What is your problem with me, Ishida?" Voice level and expression moderately perturbed, Kurosaki's demeanor is too calm for how off-kilter he is throwing Uryuu. "Why do you always act like this any time we stop arguing for a change?"

Because the only time Uryuu forgets how much he wants Kurosaki is when they are fighting. When he is so enraged that whatever salacious thoughts he would otherwise be having are utterly eclipsed. He tries to slip past the boy but Kurosaki darts a hand out to bracket him in. Anger flares up and Uryuu grits his teeth as he speaks.

"How presumptuous."

"That's _my_ line."

"What?"

"I'm not judging you, dumbass. Like anyone else I just prefer it when my friends don't act like jerks for no reason." Uryuu watches his brows dip into an intent V as Kurosaki gets riled up. "I'm not trying to take advantage of you, either. I offered to pay you back, didn't I? By helping with your projects or buying you a meal. I'm not looking for hand-outs here. But I don't see what's so hard about helping me with schoolwork this once."

"You're taking liberties—"

"I asked first, didn't I? I thanked you. What else do you want from me?"

" _Nothing_!" he shouts, at the end of his patience. "I want nothing from you, Kurosaki. Not your consideration, nor your gratitude, nor your fucking _friendship_. I never wanted anything like that to begin with!"

Reaching up to shove against his chest, Uryuu's fury ratchets up another level when Kurosaki resists. He snatches Uryuu's wrists and pins them against the wall. Which immediately reignites Uryuu's accursed flush. The periphery of his vision blurs and darkens.

"When are you going to quit pretending, Ishida? We've already been friends for nearly three years now. Just accept it!"

"Let go, Kurosaki," he warns in a dangerous tone.

"Or what?"

Uryuu snarls and shows him precisely what. Hooking a foot around the boy's leg, he pushes too fast for Kurosaki to counter. He goes down with a surprised grunt. And he takes Uryuu with him, still tenaciously clinging to his wrists. Somehow he didn't expect that. The breath gets knocked from them both, jumbled up on the floor with their too-long limbs, regardless of their natural grace. Kurosaki recovers first and uses the advantage to reverse their positions. He slings Uryuu sideways and plants steady knees to either side of his narrow hips. Then Kurosaki slams his arms to the carpet, fingers splaying out for balance, and leans down to glare at him despite heavier breaths.

Dizzy and disoriented beyond proper coherency, Uryuu blinks vacantly until his brain recovers. He's still angry, but that is now secondary to the stronger emotions created from their current predicament. He needs to get Kurosaki off him _right this minute_ or—Wait, something is wrong here. Far from upset, Kurosaki appears almost shy. His eyes flit around Uryuu's face as he gives a cautious little frown.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Your glasses…"

"What about them?"

"I think I knocked them off."

" _So_? Get off me, Kurosaki," he says as he thinks _just kiss me already_. It's not going to happen. "Go home."

"No."

"Yes!"

"Or what?" comes an insistent murmur.

Uryuu's eyes widen as he stares incredulously. Refusing to leave. Refusing to budge. What does he expect to happen? Does Kurosaki want an actual fist-fight? He doesn't think he can manage that just now. Kurosaki is tingling across his skin, warmth and reiatsu spilling generously from him. Though his obstinacy is infuriating, Uryuu can't help appreciating the solid weight of him pressing down. The strangely soft tone of his voice as he challenges him.

In spite of losing his glasses Uryuu can still see him clearly from this distance. The sharp orange lines of his brows accentuating rich brown irises. Angular jaw tapering to a strong chin. Long nose curving up just a tiny bit at the end. Kurosaki's wide mouth is cinched into a light pout but he can still picture it twisting at the corner, into the typical smirk of the mischievous brat he is. Too easily, Uryuu can picture it slackened in that loose state right before accepting a kiss. Slightly parted, faintly moist and flush with anticipatory blood flow.

All it takes is a flex of his neck and a calculated trajectory. Uryuu closes his eyes and rises into it. It is everything he imagined, with an added hint of sweet and savory from their dinner. A happy buzzing dulls his mind for six blissful seconds while swirls of energy dance around in his chest and zing down to his stomach. This shock of pleasure is what brings him back. Six seconds of Kurosaki being too astonished to react to Uryuu's unexpected kiss is all it takes to throw him into panic. Uryuu shoves the boy away from himself and scrambles to a stand.

Uryuu brings a shaky hand to hold to his mouth. He can't bring himself to look at Kurosaki, who he hears slowly rise after a moment. He manages a single, sharp word before stalking down the hall to his room and slamming the door.

"Leave."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter has a very long excerpt (italicized) in the middle of it, and I apologize for that, but it couldn't be helped.

* * *

II

* * *

Resisting the urge to do something childish like skipping school to avoid Kurosaki proves difficult. Though he does succeed, it is not by virtue of moral obligation so much as stubbornness; he's sure Kurosaki is expecting him to do it so he won't. The shocked look on his face when Uryuu walks into the classroom as usual and takes his seat is priceless. Still, the turbulent mélange of anxiety, humiliation, and confusion braids his gut into a tight knot.

The entire morning is spent pretending he doesn't feel that gaze focused on him like a laser painting the target to be annihilated. He can only imagine what Kurosaki must think. Anything from total bewilderment to blind rage. It's not every day your enemy-cum-battle partner is unusually helpful, yells in your face, and then throws you down and kisses you. Uryuu still isn't sure how it happened. Any of it. How could he go from wanting to punch Kurosaki one minute to accidentally sucking face the next?

He blames it on the stress.

Studying with Kurosaki yesterday had been by far the longest block of time they've ever spent alone outside of extenuating circumstances—i.e. sojourns to alternate dimensions—where the main goal was far too important to shirk in favor of frisky business. Not to mention the plot bunny which has been sanguinely eating his face off for not having finished writing it out days ago. The one that demands he fictionally do things with the boy that Uryuu isn't sure are physically feasible. Add that to the absurd eventuality of having Kurosaki showering in his home and Uryuu was bound to have a mental breakdown.

Now he doesn't know what to expect. Will Kurosaki pretend it never happened and avoid him? Drag him out of the building and attack? Wait until he's alone and murder him? Or, worst of all, will he trap Uryuu somewhere he can't escape and demand answers? Part of him wishes Kurosaki would just hurry up and do whatever he's going to do so he can stop worrying already. Tension doesn't suit Uryuu and his shoulders are aching with it.

He spends lunch in one of his clubs' rooms, as he has been doing for the past year. Kurosaki doesn't track him down to burst in and start shouting. Uryuu goes back to class for the second half of the day and pulls out his homework to turn in. He finishes his geography quiz and submits that as well. The fresh notes he takes in his last class for the new chapter are as organized and inclusive as usual. When the final bell rings and everyone scatters from the premises, Kurosaki doesn't follow him home.

That night, switching off his light in preparation for sleep, Uryuu acknowledges the sporadic beat of his heart and the disturbing tremble of his hands. But Kurosaki doesn't break in and kill him in his sleep.

The next day brings much the same except they take an exam instead of a quiz and Uryuu eats in the Student Council room instead of Handicrafts Club. Also, he realizes he has lost his notebook in the middle of his second-to-last class. It takes every modicum of restraint he possesses not to start shouting and flailing where he sits. The one item which must never leave his grasp gone missing? The one thing which can single-handedly shame him into premature death fallen into the hands of another? And at a time when it could wreak the most havoc with his life, too.

Rather than panic, Uryuu waits until the class break and approaches the few people he trusts enough to question about its disappearance.

"Inoue-san, may I ask you a quick question?"

Even after all this time he has stuck with formality as a distancing mechanism. She turns to him with a smile and Uryuu resolutely does not look at Kurosaki seated a couple of desks behind her.

"Of course, Ishida-kun."

"I've lost a notebook. An aged-teal one with parchment paper and a magnetic flap closure. Have you seen it?"

"Hmm," she ponders with a finger on her chin. "I've seen you with it before, for sure. But I haven't seen it lying around anywhere or being carried by anyone else."

"I see…"

"I haven't seen it either," comments Sado, who overhears from the desk beside hers. "But I'll keep an eye out."

"Me too!"

"Thank you both," Uryuu sincerely says. "Please do. It's very important to me."

He hesitantly asks other classmates after them, leaving out the fact that it's his notebook he's asking about. No one has seen it, or admits to it anyway. Uryuu is confident in his lie-detection skills to conclude none of them knows anything about it. Moreover, he can't remember the last time he had it after Kurosaki's stupid request two days ago. He hasn't had the peace of mind to even dream of opening it while he's been dreading Kurosaki's reaction to his act of mild sexual assault.

When Uryuu has asked everyone but Kurosaki, he checks each of his club rooms, ignoring the bell signaling the start of the final class. No one questions his truancy, however, since he is the highest-ranked and most-involved senior in school. He even goes straight to the main office and looks through the lost-and-found. That aside, he isn't sure where to go from there. The chances of a student from another class finding it are slim. Besides, he doesn't have the time, means, or energy to question every single student.

Going home that afternoon is agony. Every step is accompanied by a hundred fresh ideas of how that notebook can destroy him. By the time he gets home he has imagined about ten thousand horrifying scenarios…thanks to the creative genius of a writer. He is so mentally exhausted that he skips studying and eating in lieu of collapsing onto his couch and groaning into the cushions after performing a cursory check of his apartment which also fails to turn up anything.

Uryuu returns to his couch and debates fleeing town. It's true that he meticulously kept any names out of it—referring to himself and Kurosaki by the first kana of their last names only—his handwriting is indisputable. There are too many documents for club activities, homework, tests, and other forms in school records to say his identity would never be uncovered. No, it's more a matter of when it will be.

The bridge of his glasses pressing into his nose from the cushion irritates him; he lifts his head to snatch them off and drops them to the table. Pushes fingers into his hair and musses it out of frustration. Yanks at the clasps on his restrictive shirt until they all give. Tugs the fabric from his slacks and lets it drape loosely around him. His repressive belt goes next. Then his stuffy socks. Uryuu isn't satisfied until he's half-dressed and much less fettered by his own outfit. He feels another breakdown coming on.

He almost falls asleep.

The only reason he doesn't is because someone starts knocking on his door. He gets up to answer it. His hand freezes on the handle; Kurosaki's reiatsu is seeping through from the other side. Suddenly he is wide awake, secreting adrenaline as if he were in mortal danger. And he thinks maybe he is. The fleeting desire to pretend he isn't home gets crushed as it arises since Kurosaki miraculously senses him within.

"I know you're there, Ishida," he quietly announces. "Open up."

It takes Uryuu a few seconds to think of what he wants to say, how he needs to act when he opens the door. There have been too many potential outcomes to this confrontation that he can't choose one. So he twists the knob to pull the door and simply says the first thing that comes to mind.

"I knew I shouldn't have shown you where I live." Speechless, Kurosaki stares for too long. His eyes track over Uryuu and remind him of his fussy restyling too late. He doesn't bother fixing his appearance because he is too weary. "What do you want, Kurosaki?"

"Can I come in?"

It's a question but he doesn't wait for the answer. Uryuu steps aside the instant before their bodies would have collided from the boy's mulish momentum. He watches Kurosaki remove his shoes and stride over to the sofa to sit as if he's already comfortable in his home. It pisses Uryuu off. He stomps over to tell him this, preferably with threats of violence thrown in, but Kurosaki's next words halt him.

"Do you want to tell me why you kissed me?"

Worst-case scenario it is, then.

"No."

"Embarrassed?"

"Get out."

"Tell me why you kissed me and I'll leave."

"I kissed you," Uryuu snaps as he snatches his glasses from the table and slips them on to shoot a fierce glare from his superior vantage point standing beside the couch, "To mess with your head, Kurosaki. Obviously."

"What?"

"You wouldn't let me go. You wouldn't get out. You kept asking me stupid questions and insisting that we're friends. I had to shut you up somehow."

"That's…" He trails off and relinquishes eye contact in favor of frowning uncertainly towards the floor. Uryuu is waiting to hear a dismissal in the form of 'insane' or 'fucked-up' or perhaps 'queer'. He is giving Kurosaki the easiest way out of all time. Just accept Uryuu is that strange kind of person and move on. What he is not expecting is, "Bullshit. You'll have to give me the truth if you want me to go."

"The truth is I didn't feel like fighting and there was no other way to get you off me. So I figured I would persuade you via disgust. Guess what? It worked: you left."

"That—I wasn't disgusted! That's not why I left."

"Then why—"

"Because you kissed me!" Kurosaki finally raises his voice and his eyes to meet Uryuu's. "And I didn't know what the hell to think because you're…you."

"Poor disturbed Kurosaki," he snickers a little too manically. "Assaulted by the class nerd."

"Stop playing around, Ishida!"

"That's what you get for doing whatever you please despite what people ask you to refrain from doing." Huffing a wry chuckle, Uryuu takes some pleasure in the anger he kindles. "I just gave you a taste of your own medicine."

Apparently fuming, Kurosaki holds his response for some time. His hands clench around the strap of his bag as his frown intensifies, eyes boring into the coffee table in front of him. Uryuu wants to remind him that he's been told to leave—again. But then he finally forms his reply.

"Do I really bother you that much?"

"Yes."

"You hate me."

It's Uryuu's turn to frown. The boy's disgruntled mood wanes in the wake of a more melancholy disposition. If he could comprehend it actually happening, he would say Kurosaki actually looks sad saying something he has already been told so many times. It shakes him, making Uryuu wonder if he should consider his words carefully here. Instead of repeating himself when it would hold the most weight, he makes an inquiry of his own.

"Why do you care?" When Kurosaki turns his head away and closes his eyes, something painful flares in Uryuu's chest. Forces him to grit his teeth and rush forward to clench Kurosaki's shirt into two fistfuls. He jerks the boy once and gets in his face to snarl, "Why does it matter what I think of you one way or the other? Answer me, Kurosaki!"

Conflicted brown eyes lock onto his from a handbreadth away.

"I took your notebook."

Uryuu drops him like a hot potato. He sinks to the coffee table behind him and gapes. All he manages is a single whispered word of denial.

"Liar."

But Kurosaki shakes his head and produces it from his messenger bag. Uryuu doesn't even have the strength to reach for it. He's too busy cycling through surprise, disbelief, and the most intense mortification he has ever imagined. It burns up his neck and stings across his entire face. Then it eviscerates him. Contrite, Kurosaki watches him struggle with worried wrinkles on his forehead.

"That day, after you locked yourself in your room I grabbed it…I didn't do it out of anger or spite. I just wanted to understand," he explains in a low, serious tone. "I've seen you write in it so often I assumed it was a journal. Just a daily log of your thoughts or some shit. I knew you'd never tell me the truth. You looked so devastated right after it happened…for a second I thought I had somehow kissed you." Uryuu is still incapable of speech. Kurosaki glances back and forth between his eyes and fidgets before adding, "I was desperate but that doesn't excuse breaking your trust. I'm sorry, Ishida."

With that, he sets the notebook on the table beside Uryuu, who tracks its movement unerringly. After a long moment, he reaches an unsteady hand out to it, snatching it back before making contact. His hand balls up and he presses it to his forehead as he squeezes eyes closed. This isn't happening. This cannot be happening.

"You read it."

"Yeah…"

"How much?"

"Well, it only took a few sentences to realize it wasn't what I thought it was. I put it down pretty fast." Uryuu dares to hope, fervently prays. Only to be shattered so completely that he must fight to breathe. "But curiosity got the better of me so I ended up reading the whole first story."

"No, no, no, no…" Bolting from his seat, Uryuu paces around his living room muttering the word over and over. "No, Kurosaki. No! Just tell me you read the first page and left it alone after that. Please."

"I read the first one…and then I kept going."

"Just fucking lie to me! _Please_!"

"All of it, Ishida," he mercilessly admits with a solemn expression. "I read every last word in that notebook."

"Bastard!"

Uryuu summons his bow and points it at the boy so swiftly that it startles both of them. Kurosaki stands slowly and raises his hands in a placating gesture. Breathing erratic and shallow, Uryuu's arms tremble in the simple position. He doesn't even know if a spirit arrow can harm the human form but he really wants to try.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Ishida. I won't."

"Why not!?"

"Because I _liked_ it!" Everything in him demands to label it dishonesty, although Kurosaki just claimed he speaks truth. His arrow flickers and his aim errs. Kurosaki takes a step towards him. "I thought it was fucking nuts at first. Affronted at the fact that you used me as a character in those kinds of stories. That you would think of me that way without my knowledge, my permission. But I pictured you and me doing the stuff you described and—"

"Stop."

"Most of those stories have me acting a lot more aggressive than I probably ever would in those kinds of situations, but—"

"I said _stop_!"

Kurosaki shuts his mouth but he refuses to back down. Uryuu's fingers are getting tired of holding the line taut. He has to make a decision. The tension builds as he sweats, wondering how much more it would hurt to shoot Kurosaki than let him go. Allowing the arrow to disintegrate, he lowers his left arm but keeps his bow drawn in his right.

"Do you hate me, Ishida?"

"No," he reluctantly states. Kurosaki's hopeful expression sours when he clarifies, "But I wish I did."

"Don't say that."

"It would be so much easier." Uryuu lowers his arm and lets his bow fade as bitterness wells in his throat. "Wanting someone like you is a detrimental addiction. Have you ever longed for something you knew from the start you could never, ever claim? Something perpetually paraded in front of you so you'll never forget it?"

"Who said you can't claim me, Ishida?" he asks and takes a step closer. "You decided that on your own."

"I know you asked Inoue-san out before she chose Sado-kun."

"She confessed to _me_ —"

"Even if you were interested it doesn't change the fact that you are a Shinigami and I am a Quincy. Our paths will always be conflicting."

"You say that like we haven't basically been on the same path since we met!"

"My father would never allow it."

"Since when do you give a fuck what your dad wants?" Kurosaki takes the final step forward as Uryuu opens his mouth to list another reason. His fingers curl around Uryuu's shirt and tug. "All I'm hearing is stupid excuses you've thought up to convince yourself not to try, Ishida. Am I so intimidating that you never considered asking me what I thought about it?"

Uryuu's frown answers for him. Kurosaki's exasperated growl precedes an action so jarring that his brain goes offline for a few tense seconds. Mouth heavy on his, Kurosaki holds them there until Uryuu makes a bewildered sound and pulls away from the kiss.

"What the hell are you doing, Kurosaki?" he tries to shout but it comes out hoarse. "G-get off me!"

"Why? Isn't this what you want?" Despite Uryuu's weak struggling he keeps hold of his shirt. "You're attracted to me, right?"

"I may be many things, Kurosaki, but I am not a slut."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't want a fuck-buddy!"

The shrill timbre of his voice makes Kurosaki wince. He considers Uryuu before taking a deep breath.

"You want a boyfriend."

"Ye—no! That's not what I meant."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why can't we be boyfriends?" Uryuu's jaw drops as the man's irritated moue smoothes into something closer to yearning. "Go on dates and talk about dumb shit. Miss each other when we're apart. Make everyone else jealous with our happiness. Why can't we, Ishida?"

Fiercely dislodging Kurosaki's grip on him, Uryuu stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall. He stares at Kurosaki as if he just suggested they commit suicide together. Uryuu shakes his head for lack of words.

"You—"

"Truth is I…I've liked you for a while now. That's why I keep asking you to do things with me but you always say the same damn thing."

"This can't be happening. This is a joke, right? A horrible joke because you can't be serious."

"I _am_ serious, damn it! What will it take to convince you?" Those words seem to spark an idea. Eyes lighting up, Kurosaki approaches him with a determined expression and Uryuu doesn't have time to run. "Your stories. Let's act one out right now."

"Kurosaki, you're—"

"I'm crazy. Yeah, I got that," he nods with rolling eyes. "Put that aside for a second and tell me which one is your favorite."

"I don't…No."

"Fine, then we'll go with mine."

Spluttering at the notion that Kurosaki has a favorite one of his stories, Uryuu is taken by surprise when he steps forward to grab his wrist. He snatches it back and realizes by the pinch to his skin that Kurosaki has just stolen his spirit weapon. The silver chain dangles from loose fingertips and Uryuu watches it slip into the man's pocket. If Kurosaki thinks he's defenseless without it, he's even more of an idiot than Uryuu thought.

"Give that back."

"No. We're even now. I can't go Shinigami and you can't go Quincy."

"You say it like we're shape-shifters," he mutters, shaking his head. "If it's an even fight you want all you had to do was say as much."

"I don't want to fight," Kurosaki disagrees with a widening smirk. "I just don't want to die when I do this."

"Wha—"

Uryuu sees a flash of school colors as the tie Kurosaki had been wearing earlier today is produced from his back pocket. Then Uryuu is being grabbed and flung to the couch behind Kurosaki so fast that he bounces twice, losing his glasses. He reaches for them but his wrists are once again taken hostage, this time to be secured behind his back. Trying to shift his weight so he can kick at Kurosaki behind him, he only manages it after the last knot is secured. Kurosaki cleverly jumps out of the way before his heel can make contact.

"I'll have to improvise here because I don't remember the words exactly—"

"Kurosaki, untie me _right this instant_!"

"But I think I say something like…'Let's see some Quincy kung fu now'."

Uryuu barely contains his rage at this treatment. He sits up to tug hard at the binds, succeeding in straining his shoulders. Kurosaki is a slightly blurry smiling figure before him. The glare Uryuu shoots at him doesn't seem to do much. He's trying to think of a sharp object he can access swiftly enough to free himself but he's drawing a blank. His hobbies don't include collecting blades: he's an archer, not a swordsman.

"It's 'Let's see your Quincy _karate_ now'," he corrects to buy himself some time to think. "We are in Japan, after all, idiot!"

"Oh, right. Anyway…"

He's still trying to think of a way to get the tie off when Kurosaki pulls him off the cushions and drops him into his desk chair instead. Uryuu kicks at him and tries to stand from the seat but he is stopped by a body carefully folding into his lap. Legs trapped and arms tied, his only remaining defense is a well-timed head-butt that doesn't happen because Kurosaki pins him to the back rest by the shoulders. The chair wobbles dangerously but holds.

"Kurosaki, this is not funny!"

"Who's laughing?" He frowns thoughtfully and glances around the room. "This happened at school in your story. I guess it's too much to ask that we wait until tomorrow after class?"

"Are you insane!?"

"I figured. Well, at least this way we won't be interrupted, right?"

Uryuu opens his mouth to start shouting—the only real language this miscreant understands—but his hair is gripped in a firm hand and lightly tugged so that his head is tilted to one side. At the first touch of Kurosaki's lips against his, Uryuu's mind slows, distilling into a machine meant only to catalogue the sensations of this strange reality. Yet, as the mouth above his remains immobile, he begins to wonder what Kurosaki is waiting for. Uryuu may not have the bountiful experience of womanizers like Kojima, but even he knows kisses are more than warm pressure and soft breaths.

So, when Kurosaki pulls away to look at him, gauging his reaction to this, Uryuu is confused. Although he would agree he tends to paint a bolder Kurosaki in his writings, this is a little too silly. The scene, Kurosaki's self-proclaimed favorite, is a particularly adult version compared with Kurosaki's chaste rendition. Those torrid words flood back to him in the handful of seconds between one blink and the next, accompanied by vivid flashes of imagery.

 _K. wisely avoided my mouth in favor of kissing a sloppy trail up my neck. The flood of adrenaline in my bloodstream was soon joined by dizzying dopamine. I grit my teeth against what I refused to acknowledge as a type of pleasure, the unexpected heat of K's tongue suffusing into my skin._

 _"How many times do I have to tell you to get off?" It was supposed to be menacing but it came out breathless and punctuated with a gasp. "K, this is harassment! Assault! It's a damned crime, you moron—Gah!"_

 _My rant was derailed when the boy curled a fist into my shirt and yanked once to rip my undershirt roughly down the middle, exposing my chest. I breathed hard as the damp pocket of K's palm smoothed over my torso. My head was spinning. Heart rate tachycardic. Lungs struggling. Eyes widened. K was moving on from tickling over my belly and molesting my ear to snapping open my slacks._

 _Gasping in surprise at that, I did the only thing I could to stall proceedings._

 _"You know, this is considered rape, Shinigami," I blurted in a rush, putting as much venom into the statement as I could. K. froze and released my ear to lean back and look at me with shocked eyes. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't consent to any of it."_

 _"But the way you look at me—"_

 _"What I may or may not think about is my business, not yours," I said through clenched teeth. "Don't make assumptions based on something you were never meant to notice in the first place!"_

 _"You're saying you don't want this?" countered K. He was still frustratingly calm in spite of everything. With a growl, I attempted freedom but didn't make it far, strong hands locking my shoulders back into place. "You don't want me touching you? I think your hard-on missed the fucking memo, I."_

 _On that note, K. pulled the zip and shoved a hand inside to warm my expanding erection through my underwear. I groaned at the mixture of arousal and shame it inspired. I watched the boy crack a smirk at this sound. Then my head fell against the chair because fingers were tightening and moving against me, making me bite my lip to hold back similar noises._

 _"Yesss," I hissed it on accident. "That is what I'm saying. I don't…want you!"_

 _"Liar." K. dipped down to suck at my right nipple as he established a steady pace in my pants. "Give me one legitimate 'no' and I'll listen. Otherwise…"_

 _I worked my tongue into the shape of the word but my voice wouldn't cooperate. It kept wanting to make these stupid ah and mn sounds instead. Those were both highly unhelpful noises, if K's reaction to hearing them was an indication. He looked down at me with slatted eyes and licked lips. His breathing was almost as heavy as mine, which was ridiculous considering only one of us was currently getting a handjob. Each squeezing stroke was another shovelful of dirt over my grave._

 _And as my mouth fell open on the sensation of slick friction over the most sensitive part of my cock, K. lapped inside with a wily tongue. I kissed back on instinct. I moaned into it and shut my eyes, already so close. K's tongue mirrored the motions of his hand, pace matching almost exactly, and my breathing synced to it. I murmured something indecipherable into K's mouth as I felt the end approaching. It was too good, too much, too fast and I wanted to hold it back almost as much as I wanted to get it over with so I could start yelling again._

 _Right before my vision could white-out, I grunted at the loss of K's rough hand. I cried out at the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into the thick muscle of my left shoulder._

 _"What the hell are you biting me for!?" I demanded, opening my eyes to glare._

 _The picture K. presented staggered me. He looked just as delirious as I felt, panting and flushed with hazy eyes and small dots of sweat glistening against his skin. The hand that wasn't still holding me to the chair was pressed firmly to his own crotch. Releasing his hold on my shoulder, K. pulled back to flash me a wry smirk._

 _"Sorry. I almost lost it." My eyes flared wide at the admission. K. tilted his head in something resembling timidity. "You were making these urgent little sounds and wriggling against me…I just…"_

 _"I haven't even touched you," I felt compelled to point out. "You're saying you almost ca—"_

 _"Look, I like you, all right?" Then K. frowned and swiveled a hard stare. Offended, his voice took on the usual confrontational edge we always devolve into communicating with. "This is like having a real-life wet-dream where I get to see and hear and taste and smell you. Touch you like this and drive you crazy because you want me as much as I want you. Of course I'd be excited. I'm sorry I bit you, but…I didn't want it to end yet."_

 _I watched him for a long moment. Though my cock throbbed in annoyance, some of the lust cleared from my foggy brain. Quickly, I considered this situation and K's admissions. It might be difficult to believe any of this was truly happening, but the best route was probably to proceed as if it was. I didn't want to encourage K's flagrant disregard for my verbal wishes. On the other hand, I couldn't deny that I wanted to finish what we started._

 _"What else did you have in mind?" I asked quietly, ignoring the way K. perked right up at the question._

 _"Ishida," he groaned, shivering at the tone of my voice. K's hands clenched in the fabric of my ripped shirt. "I want—will you let me? Gods, I want to suck you off so bad!"_

 _A jolt of something sharp and burning made my heart stutter. I barely choked back a plaintive please as I imagined it. Somehow, I got myself under control enough to swallow it back, along with the moan that had been building under K's lascivious gaze._

 _"Untie me, K."_

 _"But—"_

 _"Now."_

 _Pursing his lips into a resigned line, he did, standing and pulling me up to access the knot. K stepped back and eyed me warily. He probably expected me to tuck myself back into my pants and start a fistfight. Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind. For now, however, my hormones were in control and they didn't want a brawl. I turned to face K. and shoved._

 _The boy hit the floor with a thump and the beginnings of a string of curses that didn't make it past his mouth because I was already there. Kissing him hard and wet as I yanked at his belt. A shocked groan resounded. K. joined the kiss automatically and even reached down to help in the removal of his slacks. I got fingers wrapped around him and our lips smacked apart as K's head hit the carpet._

 _"Oh, Jesus fuck, I," came tripping out from his lips between erratic breaths. "I knew you'd be good at this. God damn, your hands are amazing!"_

 _I really shouldn't have been surprised at how vocal K was during sex. Especially since this was the person who was only ever quiet when you didn't want him to be. As if sensing my thoughts, K. fell silent in favor of reconnecting our mouths. Reaching for me, his warm palm fit the set rhythm between us as the other dragged across my lower back. My hips rocked in time of their own accord. I didn't bother holding back my moans, letting them slip freely against K's eager tongue. K. yanked me closer, sandwiching our erections together amid the humid planes of our stomachs and pelvises._

 _"K," I finally broke the kiss to gasp, right on the edge. "Don't you dare…bite me this time…or I'll—Ahh!"_

 _K. didn't bite me. He clenched his teeth on a startled 'unh' and gripped my upper arm with his free hand. The other one kept gently tugging even after I coated it with warm release. And I threw my head back to shout because my toes were tingling and my vision was blurring. Tremors racked my body and I collapsed beside K. in a panting sprawl. That same boneless blaze that singes my muscles after a fierce training session overtook me then, with a sweet undertone of lingering pleasure._

 _I wanted to pass out or run away. Listening to K's slowing breaths and feeling the persistent heat of his skin where our arms met. The classroom smelled like sweat and sex. K's reiatsu was settling in among the very atoms of the room with every second we stayed. Yet, a part of me wanted to remain just like that. Better yet, turn to my side and keep kissing K. because it might have been my new favorite activity. The larger part of me was still freaking out that all this was even happening. I turned to tell K that this was a huge mistake and he'd forget I exist if he knew what was good for him. K didn't give me the chance._

 _There was a quick grin followed by K's hands and mouth all over me._

"Say something, Ishida," he quietly requests, wearing a discomfited frown. Uryuu lets the fabricated scene fade as a real one continues to unfold before him.

"You're a terrible kisser, Kurosaki."

It's the first thing that comes to mind and Uryuu mentally scolds himself for this uncharacteristic haste. Too busy thinking about how Kurosaki's favorite story is the one where he confesses to Uryuu and not the other way around. Too busy realizing he can't deny one iota of his feelings towards Kurosaki because it's all written in that stupid notebook. He expects Kurosaki to be angry or annoyed, perhaps even hurt, but he just chuckles and calls Uryuu a jerk. Another display of that hard-won maturity that keeps taking him by surprise.

"Then why don't you teach me?"

"What?"

"You know so much about this stuff already. Those things I read in your notebook…" Kurosaki blushes faintly as he trails off for a moment. "Teach me about it."

"What are you implying about my character?" he demands, arching an irritated eyebrow. Uryuu doesn't like the idea that Kurosaki seems to think he's some kind of man-whore. Just because he has an active imagination and access to certain information…"More importantly, aren't you losing touch with reality here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you have me tied to a damn _chair_ , perched on my lap like some kind of oversized paperweight, and you're asking me to tell you how to kiss like that isn't something most teenagers have already learned by now!"

"You know I don't have time for—"

"So that entire year you were powerless and did nothing but raise your grades, work part-time, and save up money, you never once gave thought to romance?"

"Well, I—" Kurosaki cuts himself off and looks away, scowling. "I thought about it, but."

"But what? Too much trouble accepting one of the dozens of confessions you got each month?"

"I never got the right one!"

"What is that supposed to…?" It's Uryuu's turn to avert his gaze as he recalls what Kurosaki said earlier about trying to approach him with the same negative result each time. To think this is how Kurosaki chooses to confess, of all methods. "This isn't how these things are typically done, you know."

"There's nothing typical about Ishida Uryuu," he shrugs.

"Forget it. You've made your point. Now get off and untie me, Kurosaki."

He sighs while doing as he is told. Uryuu rubs at his numb wrists and shoots a glare at Kurosaki for good measure.

"So is that your answer?"

Tilting his head to give Kurosaki a good, long stare, Uryuu vacillates. It would be so much simpler to reject him here and now as clearly as possible and avoid any future issues with the boy. It would be so much wiser than indulging their misguided hormones for the sake of entertainment and pleasure. It would be so much smarter to avoid the inevitable fights, arguments, and drama of a pseudo-relationship between them. Uryuu opens his mouth to say that the last thing he wants from Kurosaki is increased communication and contact, but the boy's expression stops him cold. Something like resignation, a hint of devastation. Balling his fists for the second time, Uryuu feels the scales tipping, hot fluid shifting in his chest.

"Here's my answer, you stubborn idiot."

He takes a step forward and Kurosaki's head in both hands. Fits the contours of their lips together and gently presses. A quick, stunned second precedes Kurosaki's eager imitation. So, he was serious about learning, eh? In that case, Uryuu makes his motions more deliberate and slightly exaggerated. If Kurosaki puts half as much into this as he does for training, he'll be a pro in no time. But Uryuu doesn't want to rush. He's still doubting whether he should call it all off and kick Kurosaki out before this gets any weirder.

"Why did you stop?" Kurosaki all but pouts, eyes locked onto Uryuu's mouth. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"Never ask me that again. You sound desperate."

"Okay…"

"If we're doing this, I want to make some things clear. First, don't argue with my instructions, just follow them. Second, if I tell you to stop—no matter what we're doing—you stop immediately, and of course I'll do the same. Third, we go at my pace; I don't want to hear you asking for things I'm not ready for. Understand?"

Kurosaki stays silent throughout the whole speech and nods firmly when it's finished. Some of Uryuu's apprehension dissipates with this explicit agreement. The fact that he has begun to appear nervous helps, too. Watching Uryuu with eyes slightly wider than usual, Kurosaki pushes hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders a fraction. Uryuu takes pity on him and relaxes the stern crease of his brow.

"Does that mean we can do stuff like study after school, walk home together, and start eating lunch together again?"

"I suppose," he reluctantly agrees, wondering how this might complicate his life in unforeseen ways. "But you're not allowed to tell anyone about any of this! It's bad enough with just the rumors."

"There are rumors about us?"

"Try to be less oblivious, Kurosaki, you might learn something."

"What do they say?" he asks, failing to hide his excited smirk. "That we're dating? Or just fooling around?"

Rolling his eyes, Uryuu ignores him and walks away to retrieve his glasses from the floor. The instant he pushes them back into place his gaze falls to the notebook, sitting innocently on the coffee table like it hasn't just caused a major shift in the fabric of Uryuu's reality. Noticing his focus, Kurosaki picks it up and thumbs through it. Annoyed, Uryuu snatches it from his grasp.

"Even if you've read it, this is still private!"

"I meant what I said, you know. I want to act some of those out." He lowers his voice and steps in close behind Uryuu, the heat and reiatsu of his body radiating against the length of Uryuu's back. "Just tell me what you want me to do"

"Leave, Kurosaki."

"Huh?"

Pivoting to face him, Uryuu indicates with his expression that he's serious. While he can't deny that Kurosaki is having an effect on him, he isn't prepared for this to continue tonight. He needs time to integrate and assimilate before he can even consider translating anything into actions. So he strides over to his door and opens it, pushing his sliding glasses back into place.

"Go home. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"But—"

"No arguments, remember?"

"…Fine. See you tomorrow."

Kurosaki grabs his bag and drapes it over his shoulder as he approaches Uryuu. He stops in the doorway beside him and looks over. Quirking a grin, he leans in to deliver a quick peck to Uryuu's unguarded mouth. Before Uryuu can complain about it Kurosaki is out the door and down the hall. He shuts the door with a baffled frown.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: As far as the adult content in this story, there is a deliberate gradient-theme going on. So, it's going to get worse before it gets better (or vice versa, depending on your preference) but then it goes back to PG-13/T for a while.

* * *

III

* * *

When he finds Ishida, he is wrists-deep in a pile of yarn and stuffing. Inoue greets him as he walks into the room. She's not used to Ichigo showing up to the Handicrafts club, so her first response is to pull him to a quieter corner away from their classmates and ask if everything is all right. Ishida ignores them both and continues sifting through his cluster of colorful string. A halo of female classmates hovers nearby—but not too close—to watch him work. Some watch with obvious adoration, yet too shy to ever try broaching his chilly demeanor. The thought that Ishida has no clue he is the object of such regard makes Ichigo smile.

"I just came to see if Ishida wanted to walk home with me," he distractedly tells her, waving away her concern. "He hasn't answered any of my texts since this weekend."

"You two text?" Inoue asks with an air of surprised befuddlement. "You two walk home together? Kurosaki-kun, has something changed between you?"

"Yeah, we uh…" Recalling one of Ishida's guidelines for whatever this thing is that they're doing, Ichigo hesitates. "I mean we sort of…"

"What Kurosaki means to say is that he and I have decided to pool our resources and start studying together for university exams. That's all."

They look over to see Ishida approaching them. He is holding a brand new creation that didn't exist when they had started this conversation. It's a tricolored knit hat with a neat row of red buttons in the shape of an English letter I that also doubles as a Roman numeral one on the short brim. Ichigo immediately likes it.

"Oh, that's so cute, Ishida-kun!"

Wordlessly, he hands the item to Ichigo, who accepts it with raised eyebrows. "What is this for?"

"Your head, usually, though if you find more creative uses for it I won't be surprised."

"I think what Kurosaki-kun is asking about is why you're giving it to him," Inoue helpfully adds. Ichigo nods to emphasize her statement. "It's not his birthday yet, is it? Oh, I didn't get Kurosaki-kun anything!"

"Don't worry, Inoue, it's not my birthday." Turning to look at Ishida, he explains, "I'm pretty sure the only things you've ever given me are death glares…"

"If you don't want it, I'll be happy to give it to someone else."

"That's not what I mean, Ishida," he sighs, hating how bad he always is at expressing himself. "Look, forget it. I didn't come here to talk in circles; I just wanted to know if you'd like to walk home with me after your club."

"I suppose," Ishida sniffs, tilting his chin up with a haughty air. "But you can't stay here for the next half hour and distract everyone. Please find some other way to occupy yourself until then."

With that, Ishida dismisses them both and walks back to his desk heaped with supplies and surrounded by fangirls. Ichigo mentally shrugs at this treatment. He can't say he isn't used to Ishida's colder side, since it's all he ever really shows people. Looking down at the soft, stylish hat in his hands, Ichigo wonders if he's just always been bad at seeing the warmer side. Speaking of warm, he pulls the hat on and isn't surprised to feel that it fits perfectly. Ishida has recently had the chance to run his hands all over Ichigo's head, after all.

Thirty minutes of goofing off with Keigo and Mizuiro later, he walks back to the classroom to find Ishida packing up along with everyone else. Rather than acknowledge his return, Ishida sweeps from the room, leaving Ichigo to follow or not as he sees fit. He falls into step with him in the hall but neither of them speaks along the route until Ishida's apartment building comes into view.

Ichigo wants to ask a dozen questions but he's not sure where to start or what will piss Ishida off. They haven't done anything beyond having lunch at school since they agreed to sort of begin dating. If that's what you could call it when two guys declare they find each other attractive, kind of like each other, and want to eventually do something about it. He's not even sure what's going to happen once they reach Ishida's place. It's about a fifty-fifty chance Ishida will slam the door in his face without a word.

"If you're expecting me to feed you again, I might have to murder you."

"What?" he can't help blurting, yanked so suddenly from his thoughts.

"You even offered to treat me, though I ended up paying for the meal."

"Oh, right…because I took so long in the shower."

It takes an embarrassing amount of concentration to avoid blushing at that memory. Before he had even read Ishida's notebook and discovered his own inclinations were anything but one-sided, Ichigo had been overwhelmed by a simple study session in his apartment.

It's true that the main reason he asked Ishida to help him study last week is because he has been desperately falling behind in his studies after that whole business with Soul Society and the collective Quincy throwing fits at each other, and having to help intervene yet again. But another reason is Ichigo decided he wasn't going to wait around for Ishida to warm up to him anymore, since that obviously was never going to work. No, he planned to confess to Ishida that night after treating him to dinner and having a normal hang-out situation. Preferably involving laughter and deep conversation.

None of that had worked out the way he wanted, though, and Ichigo wound up getting dangerously wound up in Ishida's shower because there is something devastatingly erotic about a flustered, confused, annoyed Ishida who is being kind of nice for a change. So, to say that Ichigo is apprehensive about what may or may not happen now is a massive understatement. All he knows is he's not going to run away from this anymore.

"Speaking of showers, I should take one," Ishida mumbles more to himself as he digs out his keys. "I didn't have time after phys ed."

"Y-yeah, then you should probably do that." Heart making a fuss at the imagery his mind provides, Ichigo follows him inside and sheds his outerwear. "I'll wait."

"Don't touch anything until I get back. Actually, don't touch anything at all."

"Does this mean I can stay for a while?"

"How were your scores on this week's quizzes?" he asks with an inquisitive arch to one brow. Ichigo answers in the form of a half-shrug. "Then we should probably study until you've memorized the new chapters."

"You're going to help me again?"

"What choice do I have, Kurosaki? If you fail it means remedial classes, which means you'll be too busy to hunt Hollow, which means I'll have to pick up your slack again—" Ishida cuts himself off with a guilty wince as he realizes he's referencing a painful time for Ichigo. That year and a half he spent feeling useless and resentful.

"You're probably right," he shrugs it off. "I'll read over my books while you're in the bathroom."

Ishida watches him a few seconds longer than necessary before nodding once and padding down his short hallway. Ichigo hears the water start up as he pulls out a couple of texts to peruse. Actually, he aced his quizzes and an exam thanks to Ishida's merciless tutoring techniques, but Ishida doesn't need to know that. Especially if it means he'll keep teaching Ichigo.

He is halfway through the second chapter by the time Ishida shuffles back into the living room, casually-clothed and damp-haired. Something minty and soothing radiates from his water-warmed skin as he comes to sit beside Ichigo. He can't help subtly leaning closer for a deeper whiff. Ishida catches him.

"Are you sniffing me, Kurosaki?"

"Maybe."

"Stop it."

"Make me."

Giving him a look that clearly expresses disdain at this childishness, Ishida lets it go and grabs a book to start lecturing him. It might sound stupid, but Ichigo has no real idea how to flirt, so he defaults to mild teasing. Testing the waters with harmless banter never hurt anyone, right? Plus, he just really likes the way Ishida smells.

An hour and a half of instruction is his limit. After that Ichigo calls another delivery restaurant to order enough food to more than make up for last time. This time he actually pays for it and Ishida has nothing to complain about. While they eat, he racks his brain for something clever to say. Although he's never been good at that sort of thing.

"I think we should call it a night," Ishida lowers his chopsticks to coolly suggest. "You look like you're thinking hard enough to catch your hair on fire."

"Hey, Ishida?"

"What is it?"

"You know when I asked you to 'teach me', I wasn't just talking about schoolwork, right?"

Silence follows this question. Ishida stares at him with a blank expression, unreadable, and Ichigo stares back with forced courage. In his mind he is already wondering if he should've kept his mouth shut. Chilly blue eyes appraise him and Ichigo resists the urge to swallow audibly.

"I inferred as much, yes," he finally breaks the tension and looks away to set his food on the table. "What's your point?"

"My—well, my point is I was hop—I was _wondering_ if we could maybe learn a little about a different subject. If you want."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Um," he falters, running a hand through his choppy hair and making it choppier. This is more difficult than it really should be. "I don't know…kissing, I guess?"

"You want me to teach you how to kiss," Ishida asks in the tone of a statement.

Fidgeting now, he nods and glares across the room at nothing in particular. As much of a nerd as Ishida is, you'd think this would be more embarrassing for him! So why is Ichigo the one internally writhing here? Because he knows Ishida is much more well-versed in this subject than your average teenager, if his stories are anything to go by. Of course he feels silly about it.

That's when Ichigo sees it: a tiny smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

"Are you messing with me, you bastard!?"

"As if you wouldn't do the same," he guiltlessly admits. "Besides, it's not every day that _the_ Kurosaki Ichigo asks for advice."

"Shut up," Ichigo nearly pouts. "If you don't want to then just say that, jerk."

"I would, if that's how I felt."

"Oh." Seeing Ishida shift closer to him, Ichigo straightens his back and tries not to adopt a deer-in-headlights expression. "Um…"

"Quiet, Kurosaki. Your comments are unnecessary from this point forward," Ishida softly orders. He would be annoyed if it wasn't said in such a sultry timbre. As it is, Ichigo is glad to have a reason not to start stuttering like an idiot. "A kiss is simple once you understand the mechanics of it. Alignment is important: you don't want to knock noses or teeth, but you shouldn't have to think too hard about it, either. Relax your face."

"Okay."

"Your shoulders, too."

"Fine."

"Now tilt your head a bit to one side. Yes, that's good. I'm going to lean in and when you feel my mouth on yours don't pucker. It's a more subtle motion than that. Pay attention to what I do."

"Got it."

Yet, the instant he feels Ishida's mouth on his, brain cells refuse to function. It is a careful graze of lips, then a firmer press. Ishida's plump lower lip dips in between and slightly off-center. There is a simultaneous push and pull, incremental shift causing light friction. Minimal moisture. Ishida retreats only far enough to come back in for more of the same entrancing series.

Ichigo does his best to focus and not get swept up in the lightning storm brewing inside him. He really does. When one of Ishida's hands comes up to rest against Ichigo's cheek and hold him still, his composure slips. It starts to seem less like a lesson and more like an act of desire. More natural and less intentional. A few seconds later, Ichigo is blinking in confusion because Ishida is pushing him away with forceful hands.

"What—?"

"You asked me to teach you how to kiss, Kurosaki. That doesn't mean you get to paw at me like a curious monkey."

"I wasn't…" Thinking more clearly now, he groans at himself. He did just have his hands all over Ishida without even consciously wanting to do so. "Oh. Sorry."

Ishida's eyes widen at the sight of his remorse. He looks away and lightly frowns.

"The old you would've made some dumb excuse and blamed it on me for seducing you or something absurd like that," he mutters. "I don't know how to deal with you like this. What happened to you in Soul Society?"

It's a rhetorical question. In spite of their usual poor communication, Ichigo had made it a point to talk with Ishida about everything after they all got back. Explaining how he finally came in to his true powers and was able to understand himself better than ever before. What he didn't tell Ishida then is the clarity he gained also helped him work out his feelings towards his friends, which is why Ichigo is finally ready to pursue something with him.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't touch you," he offers, leaving the 'but I want to continue this' unspoken.

"It's late," Ishida abruptly says, standing from his sofa. "You should go."

"Wait!" Ichigo grabs his wrist on instinct and Ishida doesn't snatch it back. "Is that really all there is to a kiss? I always thought there'd be more to it."

"You're thinking of a different type of kiss."

"Okay, yeah. Can we practice that kind, too?"

Eyebrows rise. Ishida looks down at him with a turbulent collection of emotions and Ichigo can tell he's debating. He releases Ishida's arm and shows his best innocent expression. Relief bursts when Ishida sits back down and Ichigo doesn't attempt to hide his giddy smile.

"Fine. But the next time you come over, bring some green tea ice cream or I won't let you in," he instructs while he slips off his glasses and tucks his fringe behind an ear. Ichigo starts to comment on the fact that he's already being invited back to Ishida's apartment but he gets cut off. "Whatever you do, don't bite me. Don't flop your tongue around like a miniature walrus, and don't forget to breathe."

Ichigo is nodding a little too vigorously, so Ishida has to steady his head with both hands. At first, he follows the same formula as before, a simple meeting of lips. Then he parts them and Ichigo feels the warm-wet drag across the seam. Heat floods his face and rushes to his stomach at the unusual sensation. Hands clenched over his knees, Ichigo opens his mouth and jolts at the feeling of their tongues meeting.

It's strange. Strangely pleasant. Pleasantly confusing. Ishida goes slowly enough to follow, letting him get used to the novelty of it before gradually getting fancier with his movements. Keeping his advice in mind, Ichigo juggles breathing with emulating the sensual glide as best he can. Another tier of difficulty is the way his mind keeps fuzzing over, making rational thought into an endeavor. Not to mention the tickle of Ishida's fingertips in his hair.

His hands are shaking, eager to reach for Ishida. Brush the softness of his hair, trace the lines of his sides. Settle at the bend of hips and push his thumbs under his shirt to rub against the points bracketing his lower belly. Ichigo doesn't quite stifle a small moan at these thoughts. The sound seems to startle Ishida, who chooses that moment to break the kiss. It's a little messy and Ichigo's lips feel kind of raw, but he doesn't mind one bit. He licks them, analyzing the taste.

Wiping his own mouth on the back of his hand, Ishida regards him with a crease in his brow. His face is tinted with the same flush Ichigo feels burning in his cheeks. Breathing heavier, eyes hazy. It makes Ichigo want to push him to the cushions and—suddenly one of Ishida's stories comes to mind. The one where they're both so aroused that they can't even wait to strip. They grind against each other, kissing and biting until the friction between their pants becomes an unbearable heat and—

"Kurosaki!"

"Huh?"

Snapping back to reality, he blinks at Ishida, who is watching him apprehensively.

"Stop thinking what you're thinking about."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's obvious," Ishida snaps, blushing brighter as he becomes more irritated, "With that perverted look on your face."

"So, you can write all sorts of perverted things about me but I can't think them while I'm kissing you?"

"Yes! I mean, no, that's not…"

"It's your own fault for seducing me, Ishida," he snickers, enjoying Ishida becoming the flustered one at last.

"I'm not the one who said 'let's practice kissing'!"

"But you didn't say 'no', either."

"You," Ishida growls and makes the mistake of leaning closer to glare properly without his glasses. "You arrogant, devious—Mmph!"

Ichigo can't stand it anymore. He's not about to admit that an embarrassed, angry Ishida is sexy as hell, but neither is he strong enough to ignore the influence of this secret. The taste of his lips is just as addictive the third time around, and Ichigo indulgently pushes his fingers into sleek black strands. Ishida hesitates for few seconds, making him wonder if he has overstepped, but the pause soon ends as he decides to give in.

Showing Ishida what he has learned, Ichigo is assertive in the kiss. Not necessarily seeking to dominate so much as to prove he was paying very close attention. Ishida weakly tries to pull away but Ichigo follows him. With one hand tangled in his hair and the other anchoring a shoulder to the back of the couch, he communicates without words. He tells Ishida that he wants this, that he has wanted this for a long time. Tells him that this isn't just physical or impulsive.

Ishida's hands clench in Ichigo's shirt as he makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat. It triggers something in the primitive part of Ichigo's brain that has him groaning into the kiss. Ishida jerks out of it with a quick gasp that becomes a startled moan when Ichigo immediately transfers his attention to Ishida's neck instead.

"Kurosaki, you've gone rogue," he breathlessly chastises. "Get a hold of yourself."

"I'd rather get a hold of you," Ichigo murmurs between one sucking kiss and another. He feels Ishida shiver at this comment.

Unfortunately, Ichigo's enthusiasm has him taking it a little too far. His grip on Ishida's hair is traded for one on his thigh, which must set off some pretty strong alarm bells because the next words out of his mouth are serious.

"Kurosaki, stop."

Ichigo stops, retracting his hands and pulling away from Ishida's throat. While he doesn't entirely understand Ishida's hesitation, he respects him enough to heed his requests. Ishida doesn't look angry so much as mildly shaken. He's eyeing Ichigo with a combination of surprise, uncertainty, and lust. It's the last part that keeps him from apologizing profusely.

"Sorry if I…came on too strong. I didn't mean to attack you." Remaining silent, Ishida faintly shakes his head and gazes towards the floor. "Are—are you okay? I didn't hurt you or anything?"

"No, of course not, Kurosaki. I'm fine. Stop worrying so much."

"Then don't look so traumatized," he huffs, withdrawing.

"I'm not traumatized. Melodrama isn't appreciated." Sighing, Ishida looks at him with resigned sincerity. "This is odd for me. Experiencing this with you instead of imagining it…they're completely different things. The intensity alone is unreasonable. It's almost like I keep expecting to wake up."

"You dream about me?" At his annoyed glare, Ichigo smirks. "I dream about you, too, Ishida. And I get that it's weird since we've never talked about this before. Until last week we both thought the other was probably disinterested, right?"

"True."

"Yeah. So it's fine with me if you need to take it slow." On a whim, Ichigo sets a hand over Ishida's, curling loose fingers around it. "I don't want to rush you."

Staring at their hands like he can't make sense of the gesture, Ishida asks, "Who are you?"

"I'd like to be your boyfriend, if you'll let me."


	4. Chapter 4

IV

* * *

So far, dating Ishida is a lot like not dating Ishida. Over two weeks after Ichigo suggested they go out Ishida still hasn't invited him back to his apartment, met Ichigo at his family's place, or agreed to go anywhere else for an actual date. When asked, he claims he is too busy preparing for university exams and that Ichigo should dutifully study on his own for a while. Yet, he has a sneaking suspicion that Ishida is actually trying to avoid being alone with him again, despite Ichigo's promise to go at the pace he sets.

If either of them should feel wary about any potential sexual activities, it's Ichigo! He's the one who read the tantalizing avalanche of X-rated fantasies that fill Ishida's notebook and realized all at once that a bookworm can secretly be a deviant. Who knows how many guys he's been with, the crazy things he's done? Some of the stuff Ishida wrote either intrigued or terrified him, but almost all of it turned him on. Ichigo stayed up most of the night after he stole it uncomfortably aroused but too guilty to do anything about it. Too entranced to stop and too chicken to approach Ishida the next day. There had to be something wrong with lusting after a classmate you've never really thought of like that before, even though Ishida obviously had no issues on that front.

So maybe Ichigo was a little too worked-up when he marched over and knocked on Ishida's door. Maybe he was able to ignore his nerves and the strangeness of the entire situation primarily thanks to this preoccupied mindset. Admittedly, restraining Ishida and demanding a kiss may not have been the best way to start things. He blames Ishida's writing ability and creativity for completely overriding his better judgment. But that doesn't mean Ichigo is going to jump him the instant they're alone!

They still spend time together at school. Between periods, at lunch, and after class during club activities when possible. Their interaction differs now in the ways that they speak to each other, mostly in the fact that they speak to each other at all, but also in the cadence they use. The glances they exchange. The rare laughter they inspire. The familiarity and camaraderie that always seemed strained before is coming easier each day. Ichigo is learning that when he doesn't snort at Ishida and roll his eyes, doesn't snap with sarcasm or dismissal, and doesn't ask stupid questions he can guess the answers to anyway, Ishida is much more receptive.

Ichigo wonders if it could've been like this all along.

But it's not enough to stop at having a genuine friendship with Ishida. If Ichigo only wanted a better friendship he wouldn't have gone so far as to steal his cross and pin him to his chair to get his point across. No, it has to be deeper than that, more substantial. Although Ishida is not making that goal easily obtainable, Ichigo is far from throwing in the towel. He knows he doesn't have the experience or cleverness to get Ishida to let his guard down on his own.

Speaking of easily-obtainable goals, Ichigo agreed to help the soccer team this week and they have a match after school today. Suddenly an amazing idea occurs to him. Stopping by the Student Council room on the way to the field, Ichigo gets Ishida's attention from the doorway. He gives no reaction to Ichigo's gesturing but stands after a moment and excuses himself from the small group of students.

"What is it, Kurosaki?" he asks as soon as he shuts the door behind him to remain unheard. "We're in the middle of an important discussion on school policy."

"Determined to leave your mark on this place, huh?"

"No more than you are with this entire world," Ishida blandly states, folding his arms across his chest. "How many policies have you influenced, I wonder?"

"Only the ones that needed to be changed anyway."

"Soul Society's very first human Prime Minister."

"Hey, I'm a hybrid, remember?" Ichigo replies with the hint of a smirk. It may be the oddest form of flirting ever, but it still counts. "Human, Shinigami, Hollow, _and_ Quincy."

"Who better to manipulate all three worlds, is that it?"

"I don't see why not. Vote Kurosaki."

Then Ishida laughs, a private, indulgent thing that slightly shakes his lean frame. Ichigo's heart throws a fit at the sight. He has to remind himself that grabbing Ishida and dragging him to the nearest empty classroom to declare without words exactly how _cute_ his unguarded smile is right now would not end well for him. The urge passes too slowly and Ishida sobers before he can continue the farce.

"What did you want to say?"

"I have a soccer match in half an hour. Will you watch?"

Ichigo sees the word 'why' forming on his lips, but Ishida reconsiders before it is spoken. He gives Ichigo a long, shrewd look and releases a silent sigh. Arms dropping to his sides, Ishida nods once.

"Yes."

"Cool," Ichigo has to fight down a wide grin, "I'll see you there. Make sure you stay till the end."

He sets off down the hall before Ishida can lodge a complaint about that.

* * *

There is something so different about doing an activity when you know someone you like is going to be watching. Ichigo can't remember the last time he felt the least bit nervous playing any kind of sport and he doesn't appreciate the feeling at all. It's beyond stupid, especially when he knows he's the best soccer player on this entire team, maybe in all of Japan. Yet, as he files out onto the field with the rest of the team and spots Ishida perched amongst the spectators, his stomach tightens and his heart jolts.

"Kurosaki, you're on point," calls the captain, laying out his strategy. "Score us some goals, would ya?"

"Yeah," he succinctly agrees. They have no clue.

But his eyes are back on the crowd, his mind settling back into mild anxiety. Ishida looks bored, as usual, but he hasn't pulled out a book yet. This may be one of his dumber plans, but he's determined to try it. So when the ball is dropped and the players scatter, Ichigo goes into warrior-mode. He pretends the ball is Juhabach's fat head. It hits the net so hard it ricochets into the poor goalie's back and knocks him down. An excited roar erupts from the audience and his teammates alike.

"Keep it up, Kurosaki!" someone shouts to him.

"You don't need to tell me that," he mumbles before attacking again.

He plays harder than ever before. Cheering remains more or less constant as Ichigo decimates the opposing team almost single-handedly. Although he eases up after half-time to give his teammates a chance to shine, too. By the end of the match he is dripping with sweat, panting and exhausted but feeling good. His teammates look just as content riding out their Winner's High with grins bright enough to rival the sun.

The final timer sounds and Ichigo makes one more last-minute kick, one more last-minute goal. All said and done, they beat the visitors by an embarrassingly wide margin. Ichigo is bent over leaning hands on his knees when the captain comes over to thank him excitedly. Out of breath, he nods his head and waves a hand to acknowledge the sentiment but he has better things to do right now.

Ishida meets his eyes across a rushing river of jubilant students. They clap him on the back and shout encouragements as he jogs upstream to reach the only one among them standing still. When he gets there, neither of them says a word for a long moment. They wait for the traffic to clear and the ruckus to die down. Ichigo offers a sheepish grin at Ishida's knowing eyebrow. Of course it's blatantly obvious he did all that to impress him, as if Ishida isn't fully aware of his considerable skill set.

"Good game, Kurosaki."

"Yeah."

"Is this the part where you tell me you won the match for me?"

"Nah, nothing that lame. Though I may have imagined the ball as the bad guy and you as the prince-in-distress."

"That's so much worse," Ishida states with a smirk brewing.

"You're probably right."

"I think you might have made a few boys cry today." Ichigo laughs aloud as Ishida indulges in a wry smile. "They'll think twice about playing against Karakura High in the future."

"Good thing I'm only on the team for one week, huh?"

"They'll be counting their blessings, for sure. As soon as they've scraped their egos off the ground."

"Maybe I should've gone easier?" he jokingly asks, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I didn't have to go all-out."

"What, and miss out on the opportunity to grow, facing a stronger opponent?" Shaking his head, Ishida feigns scorn, "You would deny them that?"

"Well, if you put it that way…" Ichigo shrugs and revels in the quiet huff of rare laughter their banter conjures from Ishida. "Hey, I've been wanting to ask you something. If you have time, I was thinking we could—"

"Kurosaki! Hurry up and shower so you can go home," the captain yells near the locker rooms. "Rest up for the next match, you hear?

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo captures Ishida's wrist and heads for the locker room as ordered. Surprisingly, Ishida doesn't resist or complain. He doesn't demand an explanation and he doesn't snatch back his arm as soon as they walk into the small building. Ichigo glances back to note that he doesn't even look pissed. If anything, he seems vaguely curious about where this is leading.

Their time spent meeting up and chatting after the game has given most of his teammates time to clean up and clear out. Only a few boys remain, pulling clothes over damp heads and stuffing smelly gear into gym bags. Ichigo releases his grip and twists out his locker combination as he speaks, too low to be overheard.

"I was thinking we could go to that ramen place near your apartment and talk."

"Why can't we talk here?" Ishida muses, leaning nonchalantly against the locker beside his, hands clasped over the strap of his messenger bag. "Such pleasant scenery."

Ichigo starts to snicker, thinking it's said with sarcasm since Ishida is such a stickler for cleanliness and locker rooms aren't exactly known for their ambience. A glance at his relaxed face proves that theory wrong, however, as Ichigo follows his gaze to the toweled ass of a classmate.

"Hey! Don't do that."

"Do what?"

Ishida darts his eyes to Ichigo's before finding another guy to ogle. Playing innocent, eh? Gritting his teeth in irritation, he has to fight the serious urge to command them all to leave so Ishida has no one else to look at but Ichigo. His plan isn't going to work with them hanging around being distractions.

"It's like, rule-one of team etiquette: don't stare at each other while you change."

"Good thing I'm not on the team, then."

"Ishida," he all but growls. Then Ichigo notices the evil glint in his eye. "Are you messing with me again, you bastard!?"

"You're so easy, Kurosaki," he finally breaks character to crack a smirk. Ishida transfers his attention to Ichigo now, slowly looking him over from muddy sneakers to messy hair. "Weren't you supposed to be showering? You're filthy."

Ichigo's mouth goes dry. This is really unfair! Not only is his plan to get Ishida hot-and-bothered for him failing, but it's totally backfiring because now he's picturing Ishida in the shower with him and—

"Geez, Kurosaki, are you always this slow?" the captain interrupts for the third time. Ichigo breaks the dangerous link with Ishida to glare at the man with all his might. "Whoa! I mean, uh…take your time. I'll leave you to it. See you tomorrow."

With that, he scampers out the door with the last of his team, leaving the two of them alone. Ichigo swallows hard before turning back to Ishida, who is watching him with thinly-veiled amusement.

"Oh, look: now we're alone. What did you want to ask me?"

It's been over a week since he was alone with Ishida long enough to take a breath, much less have a discussion. Ichigo has wanted to understand why he's suddenly banned from spending quality time with the guy he's supposedly dating. All that frustration hits him now and he is fed up with the game.

"Are you afraid of me?"

That shocks most of the humor out of Ishida in one blow. He straightens and drops his hands from his bag, giving him a serious look. Ichigo frowns and kicks off his shoes, toes off his socks, before he answers.

"Of course not! Why would you even ask me that?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Ishida," he instructs in a low, firm voice. They're close enough that taking one step closer would have him practically pinning Ishida to the cold metal. The urge is strong. "I'm not talking about violence or sabotage. I'm not asking if you think I'd hurt you. I'm asking whether you're afraid to be alone with me because you think I'll jump you or something."

"No."

"Then why have you been avoiding me outside of school? Turning me down whenever I invite you to do something with me? Even just studying." Gesturing with his hands, Ichigo lets some of his stress show. "Are you really so worried about me keeping my hands off you even though I promised to go at whatever pace you set? It really ticks me off that you'd think—"

Ishida kisses him. Hard. Ichigo grunts a startled sound and returns it, fingers automatically reaching for him and getting tangled in his belt loops. It only takes thirty seconds before they're both so into it that they're panting into each other's mouths. Ishida shoves him against a locker with a dull clang and steps in between his feet to lean their bodies together, uncaring of the sweat and dirt on Ichigo's uniform. His hands snake under the jersey and drag roughly down both sides of his back. All the while driving Ichigo insane with the pressure of his lips, the roll of his tongue. The heat of his hips.

He pulls away as abruptly as he pushed in and Ichigo bites his lip to stifle a disappointed whimper. His eyes crack open to witness Ishida's still closed tight, brow furrowed and gasping through an open mouth. Cheeks red and hands shaking as he reluctantly lowers them to his sides. It looks like it takes everything he has to step back. When he finally looks at Ichigo, it is with the tortured eyes of someone denied a great prize. Although no one else is stopping him from claiming it but Ishida himself.

"I can't be alone with you, Kurosaki," he murmurs, voice strained, "Because I am afraid I won't be able to keep my hands off _you_."

Completely gob-smacked, Ichigo can do nothing but stare wide-eyed for a long moment. To think that he had it so backwards! All this time he was picturing Ishida as this shy, blushing virgin—although he's pretty sure that's impossible to begin with—while the reality is that he's hiding a slavering wolf behind the mask of a scared sheep. The thought that Ishida wants him enough to start trembling after one kiss kind of breaks his brain.

Ichigo can see how much Ishida is already aroused. Not only in the erratic jump of his pulse, the deep flush of his skin, or the obvious bulge of his erection, but also in the gleam of his eyes. A richer, glossier blue pinched at the corners by restraint. He thinks about how long Ishida must have been thinking of him like this based on the sheer number of stories he has written. Imagines the countless nights he must have spent twisting in his sheets for desire of Ichigo lodged in his mind.

Now here he is teasing Ishida with flirty banter and physical prowess. Preparing to change in front of him and demanding why Ishida refuses to spend time with him. He feels guilty. So guilty because if it was reversed, if Ichigo was the one haunted by fantasies for months or even years while having to face him every day, he would've gone crazy a long time ago. He always knew Ishida has too much patience for his own good.

In order to make it up to him, Ichigo decides he must be marginally naughty. He still doesn't get why Ishida won't act on his wishes but he doesn't care right now. The only thing he's interested in is taking that unpleasant tension out of Ishida's shoulders. Ichigo tugs his shirt over his head and notes Ishida's startled expression. He preempts the imminent question.

"You said I should shower, right? I might need a little help, Ishida," he attempts his sexiest voice. It seems to work. "I made a mess of myself because of you."

Mouth falling open a fraction, Ishida is at a temporary loss for words. Ichigo takes it a step further by dropping his shorts next, leaving him in just his black boxer-briefs. Those blue eyes fall to a new point of interest before darting back up to his. Ichigo watches his pupils dilate in real-time.

" _Kurosaki_ ," is all he manages to choke out.

It might as well have been a desperate 'please' for the effect it has on Ichigo. He grabs Ishida's shoulders and devours his waiting mouth, yanking at his clothes like he can save the boy's life if he gets him naked fast enough. It seems to take an eternity just to get his shirt undone and his pants open. Ishida doesn't resist any of it. Neither does he lend assistance as Ichigo fumbles at his belt buckle. When he has to break the kiss to snatch off Ishida's glasses and bag, the reason becomes clear: the wolf has given way to the sheep. Far from the sexual savant he seems to be, Ishida looks for all the world to be just as lost as Ichigo felt the first night they kissed.

"What's wrong?" Weakly, he shakes his head but keeps quiet. "Ishida, talk to me."

"It's nothing."

"Then why are you making that face?"

"What face?"

Once more taking Ishida's wrist, he leads the way towards the bathroom portion of the room to stand in front of a mirror. Ishida glances at his reflection and curses, turning his head down from it and Ichigo alike. Frowning at this, Ichigo guides him up by his chin.

"I never asked you to hold back. You don't have to worry about that sort of thing with me. Just do whatever you want, Ishida."

"Don't tell me that," he groans and pushes Ichigo's hands away. "You don't know what it means. You read my notebook, all those disgusting things I wrote about doing with you."

" _Disgusting_? There are a lot of words I would use to describe your stories, but that isn't one of them," Ichigo insists with cocked eyebrow. "There's nothing 'disgusting' about sex with you."

"Not even that one about you…licking my…" Ishida focuses on the tiled floor, unable to continue. Ichigo can't help thinking how attractive he looks with a fine flush spreading down his collar bone to his chest, clearly visible beneath his open shirt. "O-or that one where we're using that thing?"

"Nope. Not even those."

"Then the story where I'm…spanking you?" he almost whispers, hands pulling idly at the fabric of his shirt. "And the scene right after we've been fighting Hollows, covered in blood and sprawled in an alley—"

"Like I said, Ishida, it's impossible to disgust me. I think it's time for another 'lesson'," Ichigo overrides the next complaint to say. "And since I've more or less mastered kissing, it's time for something new."

"Who said you mastered it? And you realize there's not actually a curriculum for this sort of thing, right?"

"Don't pretend you haven't already planned out what I should learn next." Sensing Ishida's uncertainty lessening, Ichigo creeps back into his space just shy of touching him. "I bet you've thought as far as teaching me those 'disgusting' things you figured I'd never really try."

"Contrary to your perception, Kurosaki, I do have other things on my mind than you."

His words are bold but his body language is weakening by the second. It's amusing to note that Ishida still hasn't bothered to fix his gaping pants or shirt. Taking a calculated step back, Ishida is stopped by the counter behind him. He doesn't take his eyes off Ichigo even when he starts to shuffle to the side. Anything to increase the distance between them. Ichigo magnanimously allows this because it's not his intention to make Ishida feel trapped.

"Like exams, club duties, and upcoming university applications, yeah," he nods. These are some of the things they've discussed at lunch and between classes. "Of course those are all important for both of us. With that giant brain of yours, though, I'm sure you have plenty of room left to daydream. I'm happy to make some of those happen for you, Ishida."

"How generous," comes the deadpan response. "I thought I had made it clear that I have better things to do with my time than indulge your whims."

"That would be true if they were only my whims. Since they're yours, too, it's worth spending some time on." Verging on irritated—despite still being aroused—Ichigo sighs and breaks eye contact at last. He walks over to a stall to twist on the water. "But if that's how you really feel, I won't force you to stay. Either way, I do need a shower, so..."

Opening his mouth to retort, Ishida is instantly struck mute as Ichigo abruptly pushes down his underwear and steps under the spray. Whatever biting comment he had prepared transforms into a stricken gasp. Ishida's knuckles go white gripping the counter's edge behind him.

Somehow, Ichigo keeps a straight face. He goes about his shower like he normally would, grabbing some soap to lather up his hair and skin. Unfortunately, the hot water is doing nothing to deter his erection; if anything, it's encouraging.

When he opens his eyes a couple of minutes later, Ishida is standing in the same spot, watching Ichigo with an incredibly hot combination of indecision and outright lust. Bitten lip, half-lidded eyes, heaving chest, the whole nine. He wipes water from his face, pushing his sodden hair back, and strides over to make the decision for him.

"Don't tou—"

"Damn it, Ishida," he growls and grabs him roughly by the arms. Water soaks through and leaves handprints on his shirt. "You think you're the only one suffering here? Don't you see what you're doing to me?"

Ishida makes the fatal mistake of glancing at the sight in question. With a soft groan he goes pliant in Ichigo's grip, eyeing his cock with unmistakable hunger. Ichigo kisses him as if it really is a test; one he must pass to gain rights to the next course. Using every last trick and tactic he has gleaned from their handful of interactions, Ichigo does his very best to erase any lingering reservations Ishida may have on the subject.

"Kurosaki," he breaks free after a blissful handful of minutes. One look and he can tell Ishida has lost all higher brain functions. If that isn't a 'pass', what is? "You...We can't... _Fuck_!"

"I wasn't thinking we'd get that far all at once anyway," Ichigo breathlessly quips, pretending to misunderstand his stilted fragments. "Let's start with the basics."

Guessing he doesn't have long before Ishida recovers enough to catch up and start yelling, Ichigo races to get him naked and lead him over to the rushing water. His shaking hands don't want to cooperate but he makes it work. Not only that but he keeps getting distracted by the smooth skin he is uncovering.

Ichigo gets his shirt all the way off, his pants pushed down his ankles, and even bends down to tug off his shoes and socks for him. By the time he gets to Ishida's underwear, his mental reboot is apparently complete.

"K-Kurosaki, wait a second!" he cries, halting his wrists before Ichigo can remove the final article. "This is extremely unwise."

"Why?" Ishida doesn't have an answer for him. "If you tell me to stop, I will. Otherwise, tips are good."

And down goes the last barrier between them. Ichigo momentarily revels in the image of a fully-nude Ishida in the fully-aroused state he put him in. And continues to revel for a few seconds more. Now that he finally has Ishida ready to go, he's not sure what he wants to do. Too many things come to mind at once, too many ideas and desires Ichigo has no clue how to do properly.

Clever, clever Ishida figures it all out in an instant. Apparently committing to this rather than keep debating, a change comes over him. Desperation is traded for resolution and Ishida ditches the tension in his shoulders. He steps under the water, dampening his hair, and pushes it back to lie flat curving down the back of his neck. It opens his face in such a striking way that his eyes seem to double in size. Ichigo quickly decides he could so easily get lost in them, unguarded and focused as they are.

"Do you masturbate?"

"What!?"

"It's a simple question," he says with a raised eyebrow. "Do you touch yourself?"

"I...sometimes, yeah."

"Only sometimes?" Ishida's other eyebrow joins the first. "How often is sometimes?"

"I haven't exactly had a lot of spare time—"

"Not even in the bath?"

"I shower right before school. And I spent a while living with Rukia in my fucking closet so I couldn't exactly—"

"Yes, that would be rather inconvenient."

"Plus my sisters have no sense of privacy."

"Curious young minds, as they say."

"And my stupid dad has a habit of breaking the door in if I lock it."

"He seems the type, for sure."

"Hunting Hollows all hours of the night doesn't leave much time for sleep, much less anything extra."

"Poor Kurosaki," snorts Ishida. He lifts a hand to trail light fingertips down one side of his chest. "You work so hard, yet you're denied the simpler things."

"Do you want to do something here or just tease me about my sad life?"

It's supposed to convey annoyance but Ichigo gasps halfway through his question as one of those fingers slips over the ridge of a nipple. Ishida doesn't stop until he passes over stomach, hip, and the top of a thigh. A series of invisible trails set tingling in his wake.

"How do you do it?" As he speaks, Ishida draws closer, tracing more of those lines. The closer he leans, the quieter his voice gets. "Is it rough and fast, short and intense? Or do you take your time when you can, deep in a fantasy on a slow build? Which moves make you bite your lip to keep quiet?"

Ichigo opens his mouth not to reply but to start panting. Lips touch his neck as a hand grips at his waist. Ishida turns him to face the wall and hot water hits his chest to pour down his body. A combination of that heat and the pressure of Ishida's hand taking hold of him forces a hoarse cry.

Now he is catching on. Lesson two is: how to give a hand job. It takes him a minute to get onboard, too busy reigning in his orgasm before it escapes from the first few strokes. Ishida sidles right up to press against his back and he has to brace his arms against the cold wall to compensate for noodle-knees. The hot-smooth-solidity of him is a shock by itself. Add that to the unfairly erotic sensation of Ishida's hard-on fitting against his ass and...Ichigo can practically feel steam coming out of his ears.

The pace starts out slowly enough that he doesn't come, but it is a close thing. Ichigo focuses on regaining his breath so he can speak. He wants to answer Ishida's questions, ask some of his own, and make this last longer than he thinks it can. It takes all of his concentration to turn his next gasp into words rather than a groan.

"Fast and rough. I do it...fast and rough."

"Of course you do," Ishida murmurs against his ear, nipping it for emphasis. "That's the hasty Kurosaki I know. I do it just like this: I take my time because I live alone and I can do that."

"Lucky."

"That's where my stories come from: ideas summoned while making this steady climb to orgasm." Pausing to tease lightly at the head, Ishida licks along his neck in pace with his thumb's subtle motions. "I try to delay it a little longer each time. Guess my record?"

"T-thirty minutes?"

"Seventy-eight."

"Fuck!" Ichigo grunts, because if that number isn't impressive enough to shoot a bolt of lust into him, now Ishida is using his free hand to roll and rub at his nipples in turn. "I'm never...telling you...my record now."

"I think I could make a fair estimate, based on your reaction to this."

'This' being a light scrape of a blunt fingernail across the slit. Ichigo moans and arches against him, previously idle hands finding whatever part of Ishida he can grab. Which turns out to be the nape of his neck and one side of his ass. Ishida hums appreciatively for the friction but keeps his composure.

"So maybe I run sprints," Ichigo huffs after he catches his breath, "And not marathons."

"There are advantages to each method, certainly. Let me show you the prize of a marathon, Kurosaki." His response to that is another moan. Resuming a nice, measured meter, Ishida nibbles at his ear between murmured sentences. "I've gotten very good at predicting that penultimate moment. Right before I come, I'll pause."

" _Nnnh_ ," Ichigo whines as he demonstrates this technique.

"I have to wait a few seconds to pull back from the edge. Distract myself by taking deep breaths and trailing fingers across my chest, down my stomach. It's soothing, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

He isn't lying. Although the warm pressure of Ishida's immobile hand on his erection is as pleasant as it is close to agonizing, the almost ticklish trace of his fingertips is kind of relaxing. Ichigo does as suggested and breathes in deeply to let it ease back out. Ishida touches his lips to a pulse point and waits.

"When my heart rate starts to slow, as yours is now, I know I can continue. Pleasure is in the blood, after all." He starts up again with that same pace. Ishida touches and rubs, scratches and sucks, until Ichigo is once again tensing at the precipice a couple of minutes later. Once again he halts all actions. "Oh. Almost missed that one."

"Ishida," he groans as he drops his head to rest on the shoulder behind him. "You're not going to try and make me wait seventy-eight minutes, are you?"

"Of course not. A novice could never hope to match my record on the first try."

"Bastard."

Ichigo would laugh if he wasn't much nearer to tears. As it is, he's struggling to keep from shouting like some idiot in a bad porno. Snickering because he knows exactly what he's doing, Ishida turns his head to the side and kisses him lightly. Then he starts dueling Ichigo's tongue with a vengeance and it's all he can do to match it. When he pulls away, Ichigo frowns at the loss.

"I always reach a point where I know I can't put it off any longer. Oversensitive, aching, and insensible with desire, I take a steadying breath and begin the final wave."

The words hit home. Ichigo couldn't have phrased it more perfectly if he tried for years. Somehow he imagined the 'final wave' to be just as leisurely as the others, but Ishida reaches both arms down and triples his previous rhythm. Going rigid, Ichigo pulls him against his back and clenches his eyes shut. But then Ishida uses one of those hands to squeeze at the base of his cock while the other keeps up a brutal speed.

"Ah, gods, Ishida!" he moans high and plaintive. "I can't take it anymore!"

"Writhing on my bed, my breaths become light and stilted," he tells Ichigo with a voice pinched by this very phenomenon. It must have something to do with the fact that Ichigo is unthinkingly grinding back against Ishida's hips. "I hold it off just a few seconds more. Until I'm leaking all over myself. Making more of a mess than I should. And when I absolutely can't stand it anymore, I reach down and press...right...here."

The fingers halting his climax dart south to nudge firmly just behind his balls and Ichigo's vision doesn't just white out, it strobes through white, black, and every color in between. Ichigo knows he must be yelling but his hearing is momentarily muffled by a roar of rushing blood. Pleasure like nothing he has ever felt rips though him, an energetic beast.

By the time he has recovered enough to blink open his eyes, he discovers that he has slid to his knees with Ishida kneeling behind him to provide support. Warm water is still pouring steadfastly over them; he blearily blinks it out of his eyes. Shakily, he shifts to turn and face Ishida, who is watching him with one-part amusement and three-parts lust.

"That was..."

"I know."

"You're a fucking genius, Ishida."

The little quirk of a smile he flashes Ichigo makes him want to kiss the boy. So he does. He kisses Ishida so hard that they sprawl onto the flooded tiles in a tangle of scrabbling limbs. Ishida avidly moans into it, inky hair swirling in the tide. Then he pushes Ichigo back long enough to gasp out a rushed sentence.

"Show me your sprint, Kurosaki."

Grinning wildly, he happily grants the request. Rough hands close over Ishida and tug as if they're seconds from being caught in the act. As if right this minute is all they have and they have to make it count.

He answers Ishida's earlier questions by showing him how he does it, those few times he can get away with it. Tight fist, harsh strokes, heavy thumb over the top. Ishida bares his neck for him so beautifully that Ichigo must lean down to suck a red mark into it.

"I wondered what you'd look like," Ichigo says against damp skin. Ishida's short, percussive breaths convert into a litany of urgent moans as he is ruthlessly dragged towards his orgasm. "What sounds you'd make. How you'd move your body. Your expression now is better than anything I could ever dream up."

A curious glance below gives Ichigo another idea. Before he can think twice, he is dipping down and parting his lips.

"Wait—Kurosaki, don't," Ishida shocks him by declining what was obviously going to become a blow job. Expressing this confusion in his eyes, Ichigo stops his working hand in concern. "Not yet. Don't get ahead of yourself."

One of these days they are going to have a serious discussion about why Ishida feels he must take everything at a snail's pace. It's beginning to worry Ichigo how unsure he seems about all of this. As if going too fast could summon the apocalypse or something. For now, he really has no choice but to settle for a frown and a shallow sigh.

"Fine. But I'm going to do to your tongue what I was going to do to your dick."

Ishida's persistent flush loses some of its color as he pales at that. Before Ishida can complain, Ichigo carries out his threat while resuming his furious attentions with a tight fist.

A combination of this devastating kiss and prolonged foreplay soon bring even this impressive record-holder to his metaphorical knees. Ishida accidentally nips Ichigo's lip when it hits him, digging his nails into him where they grasp at his shoulders. He licks a drop of blood from the small nick and stares in awe as Ishida writhes as promised. The slinky length of him splashes in the shifting puddle beneath his rolling spine. Quiet but for quick gasps, Ishida barely lets slip wisps of would-be moans. Watching this erotic display brings a hot tingle to his spent groin and Ichigo swallows hard.

"Like I said," Ishida pants as he stills, eyes closed, "Both ways have their benefits."

Huffing a laugh in stunned agreement, Ichigo sits up and carefully pulls Ishida up beside him for a kiss. It is less enthusiastic than the ones they have exchanged so far, but there is even more fire behind it now. Just as Ichigo is wondering if they have enough hot water for round two, Ishida breaks away to stand.

"Where're you going?"

"Home. It's getting late."

"Wait," Ichigo says as Ishida grabs a towel and starts drying off. "I haven't said everything I wanted to talk with you about. Can we meet up later or—"

"I'm busy tonight." Whatever high he'd been riding after that miraculous orgasm dissipates at that. If Ishida is going to go right back to being stoic and cold after all this…As if sensing his thoughts, he turns to Ichigo while he buttons his pants. "Tomorrow. Meet me at the library after school?"

"Yeah."

Nodding too eagerly, Ichigo holds his breath as Ishida suddenly approaches him. He reaches past Ichigo's shoulder to twist off the water and hands him a fresh towel. Ichigo takes it with a grunt of thanks. Holding it idly, he watches Ishida quickly dress, not bothering with his damp hair steadily dripping into his shirt collar. He gives Ichigo a raised eyebrow for his inaction but keeps his comments to himself. Ichigo rips his eyes away at last and puts the towel to use.

Then, right before he turns to leave, Ishida walks right up to him and kisses Ichigo soundly. He curls warm fingers through spiky hair, drags them down the back of Ichigo's neck, and lets them fall away only as they curve over the short swell of his chest. Ishida pulls back and meets his eyes for three solid seconds before striding out the door.

A silly grin rises up to snap Ichigo out of his delirium.


	5. Chapter 5

_I gasped as K. snapped his hips against mine more aggressively with each thrust, glasses slipping further down my nose. He wasn't kidding when he said he was pissed that I stole that Hollow kill right from under him. Yet, as the pleasure crackled and spread inside me at the rough treatment, one coherent thought pierced the fog: it was_ so _worth it. I could already tell I was going to come harder than I had in a long time. If I had to make K. angry to feel like that more often, I'd gladly—_

Uryuu stares at the half-finished sentence in the middle of the page. It's the second part of the story Kurosaki interrupted the day he asked for tutoring several weeks ago. He hasn't been able to write a single word since the night they kissed because every time he tries, the fiction morphs into a memory of reality. Then Uryuu gets swept up in remembered sensory information that leads to distraction and a flustered physical state.

This time it's that moment in the locker room when Kurosaki almost gave him a blowjob. The look on his face as he let his mouth drop open, leaning down with curiosity and eagerness. His dark eyes had flicked up to Uryuu's while warm breath had glided out to tease. Rivulets of hot water had run over him, dripping from flushed skin to patter onto Uryuu beneath him. Tanned complexion emphasized by white tile and stark light, Kurosaki had looked just like one of those male models on some distant tropical beach, complete with playful smirk.

"Hey, Ishida."

With a jolt, Uryuu snaps his notebook shut and glances up to see Kurosaki walking over. He will never understand what possessed him to invite the boy to the library the day after they had _shower sex_. What he should have said was that they need to spend a week apart to cool off. As it stands, one look at Kurosaki and Uryuu is mentally drooling. It doesn't help that the boy has unbuttoned his school shirt to expose a dark red scoop-neck tank top underneath. The delicate lines of his collar bone peek over the low hem. Faint marks from Uryuu's attentions there are still visible if he looks hard enough. Add that to the tiny little cut healing on Kurosaki's lip from when Uryuu had come so hard that he accidentally bit him and…Uryuu takes a measured breath and shoves it all away.

"Kurosaki," he quietly returns the greeting.

Kurosaki smirks as he sits in the armchair beside his, glancing at the conspicuous notebook Uryuu sets on the small table between them. Now that Kurosaki knows exactly what it is, letting him see Uryuu with it is akin to admitting he's just been thinking of him that way again. It's embarrassing enough that he instantly vows to never have it near him when Kurosaki is around. Uryuu scowls and the boy wisely keeps his commentary to himself. Instead, he acquires a serious expression after a moment and keeps his voice low as he asks a burning question.

"Will you go out with me?"

Spluttering in shock, Uryuu raises both eyebrows. "What are you talking about all of a sudden? Don't just walk up and—"

"That's what I wanted to ask you yesterday. Before we got…side-tracked." To Uryuu's surprise, Kurosaki looks away in mild discomfiture at the reference. "I want to go on a real date. Not just hanging out at school or home—assuming I'll ever be allowed into your apartment again."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Kurosaki eyes him with resigned frustration and pursed lips, as though he's been expecting this answer. Gazing pointedly out the window behind them, Uryuu releases a slow sigh and watches the leaves shaking in the day's dying light. Truthfully, he's not even sure himself why the idea of legitimately dating Kurosaki puts him ill at ease. It's not like he ever allowed himself to think too deeply about it as a possibility. His natural proclivity for caution isn't helping, either.

"I think it's a great idea," Kurosaki calmly counters with a steady gaze. "I say we should try it out before deciding it won't work. At least think about it."

"Since when are you the voice of reason in this relationship?" he grumbles and shifts his attention to scanning the area. Save for a couple of lone patrons silently reading in their own cozy nooks, only one librarian remains in the large space, on duty until close. Glancing up when Kurosaki stays quiet for too long, Uryuu is surprised to see him grinning. "What?"

"You said we're in a relationship."

"Oh, for—I didn't mean it like that!"

But he keeps smiling despite Uryuu's vehement denial. Settling into his chair and opening his bag to pull out some school books, Kurosaki appears to drop the topic for now. Uryuu is only too happy to oblige and refocus on his own homework. They have a little over an hour before close and he intends to be finished with everything before then.

Working efficiently, he takes turns advising Kurosaki when requested and wrapping up a short essay due next week. Really, it's just proofreading by this point but Uryuu needs the distraction so he won't start imagining how easy it would be to disappear behind the periodical section with Kurosaki for a quick make-out session. His fingers grip the book's edge tightly as that single errant thought completely derails his productive line of thought. A whiff of Kurosaki's pleasant scent disrupts him again several minutes later. The rhythmic ebb and flow of his reiatsu laps gently against Uryuu in soothing waves.

Ten minutes after that he hears the boy hum interestedly at some fact he's reading in a history text and Uryuu is too warm. Uncomfortable in his stiff, scratchy school uniform. Itching to loosen his tie and pop the first two buttons of his white shirt but worried it could be construed as invitation. Except Uryuu might not mind a minor misunderstanding this time. He doesn't notice his respiration and heart rate have become elevated until Kurosaki shoots him a concerned look.

"You okay, Ishida? You seem kinda…" A vague wave in his direction completes the sentiment for him.

"I'm fine."

Even to him it sounds strained. Uryuu grimaces and turns away to feign focus on his laptop while he's actually struggling to get himself under control. This is the most prominent reason why he's apprehensive about going on a date with Kurosaki. He's not entirely sure he could make it all the way through before dragging the boy to the nearest secluded area. What he told Kurosaki in the locker room about the difficulty of keeping his hands off him was no lie.

"Do you want me to go?"

"What?"

Uryuu snaps his head around to stare. The only reason Kurosaki would ask that is if he understands more than he really should. Regarding him with innocent unease, Kurosaki's mouth tugs into a light frown.

"I'm making you uncomfortable, right? Tell me what I'm doing and I'll—"

"You're not doing anything _wrong_ , Kurosaki."

He lets his face twist into something wry and vaguely sheepish to express what he won't in words. Uryuu pushes his fringe behind an ear and swallows as he subtly shifts in his seat. Slowly, comprehension dawns until Kurosaki's eyes widen. Rather than the teasing smirk Uryuu expects, he shows an equally awkward demeanor and sets his notes aside. Kurosaki leans towards the edge of his seat and lowers his voice conspiratorially.

"Are you saying you're getting excited just from being near me?" Going pale with mortification at hearing it aloud, Uryuu avoids his eyes and offers a mute nod. Kurosaki breathes out a controlled stream of air. "Shit. I thought it was just me."

They share a long look, letting it sink in. It's too ridiculous and Kurosaki starts to chuckle after a moment. A tension he hadn't realized he had vanishes as Uryuu answers with a small smile. Addressing it with the proper amount of maturity helps alleviate most of the awkwardness of the fact. So they have amazing sexual chemistry and the burgeoning will to take advantage of it? That doesn't mean they have to run screaming from each other. Right?

"It's unsettling."

"A little, yeah."

"I'm not used to fighting this hard for control," Uryuu admits, inching closer as he chooses to confide. "Not to sound entirely pretentious, but for me most things are relatively easy to attain. But with you it's like…"

"It's like craving something you didn't even know you wanted and suddenly you can't _not_ have it."

"And when you try to tell yourself 'no' and ignore it—"

"The craving just grows, tearing you up until you can't think about anything else," Kurosaki finishes.

" _Yes_."

Their faces are too close, nearly meeting in the narrow gap between their chairs. Kurosaki's intent eyes are locked onto his. Mouth slightly parted to compensate for extra air flow, Uryuu makes the mistake of licking his dry lips, catching Kurosaki's attention. He groans a short, hungry sound and closes the distance to kiss Uryuu, quick and light. The next kiss is the opposite, and it takes an insanely brief amount of time before they're pulling away from each other with flushed faces and glossy eyes.

"Is that why you won't get dinner with me?" Kurosaki hoarsely asks. He clears his throat when Uryuu doesn't respond, too busy pressing his hands to his knees so he won't hook them around Kurosaki's shoulders and yank him back in. "You said you didn't want a 'fuck-buddy', but you don't know if you can control yourself, and I'm giving you the green light. I'm _enabling_ you."

"I'm not an addict," he huffs, though he's not so sure.

"What if…What if we said we spend at least an hour talking before we're allowed to touch each other?"

Raising dubious eyebrows, Uryuu counters, "What if neither of us has that kind of willpower?"

"We'll meet in public." He gives Kurosaki a flat look that reminds him of the kiss they just shared, very much in public. "Somewhere with more people."

"If I shoved you into a restroom, would you resist me?"

"Umm…Probably?"

"Pushed my hand down your pants in the back of a movie theatre?"

"T-that would, uh," Kurosaki stutters, pupils dilating as he pictures it.

"Led you down an alley and got on my knees—"

"All right!" he snaps. Shutting his eyes while he presses the mental 'reset' button, Kurosaki takes a long breath before looking at him. "Okay. I get your point. I have a better idea."

"I should hope so."

"How about we start with sex first and then hang out after?"

"… _What_?"

"Think about it, Ishida. If we're already sated, we won't be preoccupied with perverted thoughts every time we look at each other."

Speechless for several beats, Uryuu stares open-mouthed. Leave it to Kurosaki to think something like that up. This is officially the strangest negotiation of all time.

"You seem to be forgetting something important, Kurosaki."

"What's that?"

"We're teenagers."

A blank expression follows. Then, "Oh. _Ooh_. Yeah…So it might take a couple of times to wear us out but it's worth a shot, right?"

Uryuu shakes his head and presses his forehead against his open palm. He takes his glasses off to rub at an insurgent throb of pain. Glaring at the insides of his eyelids, he mutters, "I'd like to be able to have a deep conversation with you without simultaneously daydreaming about fucking you."

The last two words evoke a full-body twitch from Kurosaki that he feels through the reverberations between their chairs. Uryuu looks up to see the lascivious glint in his eyes has returned from something so simple. Although he's no better off, feeling a jolt of lust at the sultry look Kurosaki is accidentally showing him. A few seconds of this and Uryuu is very seriously considering the sneaking-behind-bookshelves idea, strategy be damned!

"Tell me about your dad." A bucket of ice water dumped straight down his back. Uryuu straightens and scowls at Kurosaki's jarring request. "You never talk about your family. I'm curious."

"There's a reason I don't talk about them."

"Oh." Eyes darting away in uncertainty, Kurosaki rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. "Forget I asked."

Something about the gentle tone of his voice changes Uryuu's mind. Bracing elbows on his knees, Uryuu idly twirls the glasses dangling between his fingertips as he speaks. Soft halogen light glints from the immaculate polycarbonate and steel. He allows the flickering patterns to distract him from the emotions he doesn't want to feel while recalling old memories.

"My father loves his money, being infuriatingly cryptic, and insulting me. Sometimes I think he won't be satisfied until I become him, or admit defeat and become an ambitionless hermit." Pausing to swallow back fresh bitterness, Uryuu is not surprised when Kurosaki remains silent. "My grandfather was everything Ryuuken isn't: kind, wise, and compassionate. He knew precisely how to correct flaws without discouraging progress. All Ryuuken knows how to do is cut until the last drop of blood drains out of you."

"I wish I could've met your grandpa."

Kurosaki's soft admission is sincere. Uryuu glances up to flash him a strained half-smile.

"Me too."

"What about your mother? I heard about…how she died. Same as mine, more or less."

The glasses swing to a halt on the pendulum of Uryuu's long fingers.

"My mother was…" A handful of hard heart beats pass before he resumes his statement, "Her name was Kanae. Quiet and graceful, she never raised her voice or lost her temper. Whether it was a bully, a scrape, or a bad dream she knew how to make it better. Truly the tender _yin_ to Ryuuken's callous _yang_. I never understood what she saw in him. My mother was a servant for our family since childhood, growing up with Ryuuken and later falling in love with him."

"But he was supposed to marry my mom."

"To keep the bloodlines pure," Uryuu hesitantly confirms. "Even though they were related."

" _Distantly_ related."

Stiffening at the adamant declaration, he acknowledges Kurosaki's claim as well as the source of his discomfiture.

"Second cousins, twice removed or something like that," Uryuu dismisses. "Don't worry, I'm not going to nitpick over those kinds of paltry statistics. Especially since we won't be procreating any time soon."

"Right."

The baffled twist to Kurosaki's features almost wrings a quiet laugh from him.

"Kurosaki, I'm teasing you. My grandmother adopted your mother, nothing more. We're not related by blood. Have you looked at the two of us lately?" Uryuu asks with a wave between them. "We're nearly polar opposites, aesthetically. Actually, not just aesthetically…"

"Oh." Smiling weakly in relief, Kurosaki relaxes to lean against the arm rest. "Good."

"Deal breaker?"

"You wish."

The smiles slowly slide from their faces as they once again get a little lost in the vast connection of simple eye contact.

Uryuu spent so long convincing himself his attraction to Kurosaki was only physical. Yet, the instant he seriously considered it without the clouded window of bias, it's clear that was self-delusion. There's a reason he has stayed within Kurosaki's reach all these years in spite of the danger and discomfort of doing so. If he really wanted to, Uryuu could have broken all ties to the boy long ago.

Now he knows why he didn't.

"What was she like? Kurosaki Masaki. Ryuuken never talked about her."

"Imagine the happiest, sweetest, goofiest mother on the planet," Kurosaki carefully intones with that rare loving glow to his expression. "She was even better than that. So full of love and joy and praise. Always ready with a bright smile and a warm hug. The only woman strong enough to put up with Dad on a daily basis. My sisters inherited her tolerance."

"Seems like you missed out on that trait."

"Yeah," he laughs with a little shrug. "I guess I just got her hair color."

"I doubt that. From what I've seen of your father, most of your attributes must come from her. No offense to him." Choosing not to suppress a novel urge, Uryuu reaches a hand out to lightly touch Kurosaki's. He hesitates for the span of a startled glance at Uryuu's face before rotating his wrist to interlace their fingers. "Although you clearly have that quick Shiba temper."

"Can't argue with that," he grins, probably thinking of how he and his youngest uncle Ganju still can't get along for more than five minutes at a time. "You cool with dating a loud-mouthed hothead?"

"If you're fine dating an emotionally-stunted nerd."

Their private laughter draws the curious looks of the three other people in the building. Neither of them cares enough to withdraw their hands.

"So now that we've established we can 'have a deep conversation without daydreaming about fucking each other'," Kurosaki says and suddenly Uryuu understands why he twitched earlier at those same words, "You're going to meet me at a restaurant this weekend."

"Is that so?"

"Yep."

Kurosaki's grip tightens on his hand and Uryuu fights off an amused smirk. He's just going to keep asking until Uryuu eventually agrees anyway. There's really no way to get out of it. So, with a show of fake irritation he relents and they decide on a time and place before packing up their bags to leave. They walk out of the library together and head towards Kurosaki's home, the closer of the two.

Idle chatter is exchanged as they walk. Kurosaki tells him about the schools he is applying with, the programs he wants to get into, and relates a couple of anecdotes about his part-time job. Uryuu describes an elaborate crafts project he's working on, complains about the rising prices of premium yarn, and explains some of the changes he's been working on for the school.

True night has fallen around them as they walk closely enough that the backs of their hands brush at intervals. The streets are quiet, the sidewalks empty. As Uryuu debates reinitiating the hold that felt so unexpectedly comforting in the library, Kurosaki goes silent and thoughtful. He glances at Uryuu every few steps until he says something.

"What is it, Kurosaki?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About...?"

His prompt goes unanswered for a long moment. He watches Kurosaki struggle to gather his thoughts into something coherent enough to express.

"I didn't expect it to be like this. It's kind of...really normal."

"You were expecting abnormal?"

"Well, yeah. I mean," he begins before Uryuu can become offended, "I've never dated a guy, so I wasn't sure if it would work the same way as with a girl. It's more than that, though."

"You've dated a girl?"

"No, but I know how it works. I've heard enough from Keigo and Mizuiro to understand what that type of relationship is like. And I've known you long enough to have an idea of how you react to things."

"I still can't believe you and Inoue-san never—"

"I think I've liked you since you saved my life after that Menos," he states so abruptly that Uryuu freezes in place. Kurosaki turns to him with that earnest expression that always tugs at Uryuu's heart. "Maybe even since you showed up in the middle of the night like some haughty priest and told me you hated me."

"Is that how you saw me? A 'haughty priest'?"

"When I thought about what it'd be like to be with you, I imagined us fighting all the time at first. I pictured you punching me out after I confessed. Getting you to try would be like pulling teeth. Then you'd pretend you hated it and run off. Or you might have seriously hated it." Brows dipping in annoyance at Kurosaki's perception of him—even if half of it is true—Uryuu is about to start the argument he'd been waiting for when Kurosaki takes a breath and grips his shoulders. "I never imagined it'd be this easy, but I'm glad I was wrong."

Kissing him lightly, Kurosaki lifts one hand to hold against Uryuu's jaw line and takes a step closer. The mere half-inch difference in their height comes into play and Uryuu's head tips back slightly as he allows the kiss to be deepened. Kurosaki's tongue gently coaxes his to action. Fingers slip into his hair as Uryuu moves his to press against Kurosaki's waist. He brings their hips together and shivers at Kurosaki's short groan of approval.

As usual, they get carried away alarmingly fast; a simple kiss between them is impossible. Kurosaki's reiatsu is flickering excitedly between them, catching at Uryuu and stealing his quickened breath. He fights back by pushing his hands under Kurosaki's untucked shirt and dipping into the top of his waistband. The tight little sips of air Kurosaki takes as his lower back and sides are lightly skimmed inspire a mischievous curl to Uryuu's mouth. It disappears in a gasp when Kurosaki pushes him up against the thick lamp post and steps close to grind against him. Mouth falling open on a silent moan, Uryuu lets his head fall back as a pair of lips latches onto his throat.

"Pull yourself together, Kurosaki. We're still in public, under a damned _spotlight_ , and you're sucking on my neck." Uryuu half-heartedly complains to cover for his flustered state. "Do you want to convince passersby that vampires are real?"

"Then let's find somewhere private."

Nibbling at the reddened patch on his throat, Kurosaki's next moan sounds suspiciously like laughter as Uryuu tugs him closer instead of away. The grip that curves over his ass and slots their hips together like puzzle pieces overrides Uryuu's next protest. Kurosaki kisses him to muffle the noises Uryuu can't seem to stop making. It's Kurosaki's fault for setting the pace that turns making out into fully-clothed frottage. Against a fucking _lamp_.

"We need to stop," Uryuu breaks the kiss to pant. "This is illegal and potentially humiliating."

"I don't care."

His broad hands slowly slide over Uryuu, mussing his clothes and hair while leaving tingling trails of heat behind. Kurosaki stares into him with hazy eyes gone black with lust. The steady, rhythmic push of his hips never stutters or stops. And Uryuu can clearly see how much he doesn't care about being caught. Everything rushes through him at once and sends his mind spinning.

Dimly, he thinks about how much has changed since Kurosaki stole his notebook, confessed his feelings, and pecked a stunningly shy kiss to his lips. He has gone from completely inexperienced and uncertain to adept and confident in the span of a couple of weeks. Either Uryuu is an extraordinary teacher or this 'loud-mouthed hothead' has a natural aptitude for much more than battle after all.

Uryuu isn't sure he's prepared for the tables to turn this soon.

"This is why we need rules, Kurosaki," he firmly states with a resolute shove to disengage them. "None of this is going to work if we can't control our urges."

Looking sullen but not angry, Kurosaki sighs and keeps the imposed distance.

"You're probably right…"

"Of course I'm right. What if a child saw us?"

"Sorry."

The low apology halts Uryuu's follow-up reprimand. Kurosaki rubs the back of his neck and looks away as he catches his breath, cooling off. Seeing him trying like this dries up Uryuu's puddle of irritation before it swells into a wave. He nervously straightens his skewed glasses and swallows.

"I'm half to blame, too, you know. We just need to be more careful."

"Yeah." They start walking after a thoughtful pause and Kurosaki tucks his hands into his pockets. Probably to keep them from reaching for Uryuu again. "We still on for Saturday?"

Uryuu releases a silent sigh and nods. "I'll be there."


	6. Chapter 6

VI

* * *

The trickling hush of water over smooth stones compliments a gentle stirring of leaves in the wind. Sunlight flickers across Uryuu in myriad spots of fleeting warmth. The contrast of a cool breeze sends light shivers over his skin as he focuses on relaxing every last one of his muscles. Leaning against the solid column of a thin-barked tree, Uryuu lends the measured susurrus of his deep breaths to nature's simple music around him. Slatted eyes slip shut. In this crafted balance of control and freedom his mind clears completely, lending laser-focus towards just one line of thought.

He has spent every day since agreeing to have dinner with Kurosaki brooding about whether or not he should cancel. Call everything quits now before it gets messier. Because he has always figured nothing good will come of allowing Kurosaki to get closer. It's bad enough they've discussed their dead mothers like some kind of informal therapy session. Up till now, Uryuu has gone against his better judgment in the interest of indulging nearly three years' worth of desire for the sake of his sanity. But this is different.

Uryuu can feel a shift occurring between them. A softening of the barbed fences they've maintained to keep the other out of the more important parts of their lives. No, Uryuu would say they've nearly been melted altogether. The way Kurosaki looks at him, the way he smiles when Uryuu walks into the room is overwhelming. It might already be too late.

So embroiled is he in this latest episode of internal debate that Uryuu doesn't sense the visitor until he speaks.

"I didn't know you still trained out here," Kurosaki quietly says. "Yoruichi told me she found you here mastering that glove before we all went to save Rukia."

"I can't train here anymore," Uryuu answers as softly out of deference to the space's tranquility. "One arrow would destroy a square kilometer of flora."

Hesitantly opening his eyes, Uryuu watches a slightly blurry Kurosaki ogle him with brazen appreciation. Probably because Uryuu is shirtless and damp from a recent swim in the wide river, shoes and glasses set beside his folded clothes. He sees the boy resolutely pack his interest into mental storage for later. Kurosaki moves to sit beside him in a generous swath of late afternoon sun. The rich golden rays cast his tan starker and accent the reddish-blond highlights of his hair.

"Then why are you hanging out in the woods?"

"It's peaceful. Secluded. I come here to think, and sometimes meditate."

"Which were you just doing?"

"Bit of both, I suppose. How did you find me?"

"I followed your reiatsu." Anticipating his surprise, Kurosaki smiles with a lazy half-shrug, "Apparently your control slips when you're all 'Zen'. I sensed a flare and came to see what you were up to."

"I'll have to be more careful," Uryuu mutters mostly to himself. "I didn't realize—"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you right now?" he abruptly demands with a petulant tone. Uryuu's breath catches to see the effort of restraint clearly on Kurosaki's face. "I mean, look at you! Sitting there with your legs braided like some kind of yogi. Straight-backed and serene. Why are you _wet_ , Ishida!?"

"I went swimming." Uryuu stiffens at the sound of a tense groan. "I'll put my shirt back on."

"No, don't. I—I'll behave."

Unsure, he eyes Kurosaki questioningly. The boy gives a short nod and Uryuu lowers the arm sent reaching for his clothes. Then he slowly unfurls his long legs and bends them to meet his knees in a more modest position near his chest. Uryuu leans his arms against them and rests his chin on the makeshift shelf. This new posture deflates some of Kurosaki's tension and he exhales a tiny sigh while rubbing absently at this spiky locks.

"Why did you come? Too impatient to wait two more days to see me?"

He intends it to be sharp and annoyed, as all his comments used to be, but Uryuu's feelings for him soften the words to a slight tease. Shutting his eyes against the dazzling sun beams and inner turmoil alike, he tries to be less aware of Kurosaki's every subtle movement.

"Yeah, I guess so," Kurosaki readily admits. "I was about to head to my part-time job but I decided seeing you sounded like more fun."

"Such a delinquent. You'll be fired some day, you know."

"Don't care. I have to quit soon when I leave for university anyway."

"True."

Speaking of university, Uryuu still can't decide which program he wants to go into. With his grades, he's almost guaranteed acceptance anywhere so it's only a matter of which he will choose. Depending on his and Kurosaki's destinations they could end up at separate ends of the country. Or halfway around the world. Uryuu isn't sure it should matter, but the dull ache in his chest tells him it very much does.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kurosaki murmurs, "But we don't have to think about that yet."

"No," he agrees. "Nor should you quit your job early. You might want to head there now if you don't want a scolding."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Usually."

"You'll have to try harder than that."

The playful tone triggers a little alarm that has Uryuu opening his eyes in time to see Kurosaki pulling his shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes. A mischievous grin is directed his way.

"Kurosaki, what are you doing!?"

"I like your idea; the water looks refreshing after today's heat."

And Uryuu resolves not to flush as the boy shimmies out of his tight jeans and walks to the bank in only his boxers. He pauses at the water's edge and gestures for Uryuu to join him. Tempted beyond fairness, he rolls to a stand as Kurosaki wades into the stream.

A splash covers the swift sip of air he takes as Kurosaki is engulfed in clear waters. What is it about seeing him dripping wet that hits all of Uryuu's buttons at once? That incident in the locker rooms nearly destroyed him. Although the sentiment is apparently mutual, if Kurosaki's previous comments were honest. Gods save them if they're ever caught in a rainstorm together!

Uryuu knows he's fighting a losing battle because he can't seem to sit back down. The first step forward is a crack in the dam he's trying to uphold. The second step sends the whole thing crashing down. Kurosaki ceases his childish splashing and turns as Uryuu jumps back into the river. It's warmer this time, lapping at his chilled flesh with effervescent welcome. He swims out to pause within a meter of Kurosaki, wiping water out of his eyes and blinking cheerfully at Uryuu. They pointedly do not stare at each other's bodies.

"This is a bad idea," Uryuu levelly states after a long moment. "You know what happened last time we were alone near a water source."

"As if I could ever forget."

"I can't seem to stop thinking about it, either," he reluctantly admits as Kurosaki moves closer.

"Yeah? At least you can do something about it."

"'Do something'?" Kurosaki meaningfully raises his eyebrows and Uryuu's heart stutters when he gets it. "You mean touching yourself?"

"Shit, Ishida," he groans and clenches his fists, "Don't say that sort of thing aloud. Not with that expression…"

"You think you've got it worse? Thanks to you I can't get anywhere _near_ my old record now."

Just like that, Kurosaki's careful prudence is shattered. He takes one look at Uryuu and grabs him. There is no hesitation in his response to the boy's eager kiss. Uryuu is through pretending he has any control over this...this _need_ they have for each other. He's just glad he's not the only one craving anymore.

They stand on the slick riverbed, water coursing across the tops of their chests, and struggle for balance as they press and tug and touch. Uryuu jerks as the hand he was inching into Kurosaki's waistband is caught. He draws back to show Uryuu a contrite frown.

"Ah, shit. You're right," Kurosaki mumbles even as Uryuu starts to shake his head. "I shouldn't have come here. I knew you'd be alone. We can't be alone."

"Wait a second..."

"I want to respect your boundaries," he firmly pronounces, sounding like he practiced the line. Uryuu wouldn't be surprised if he had gone home and researched this. "I don't want to pressure you."

"Kurosaki, you're not—"

"This keeps happening and it's always my fault."

With a self-recriminating scoff, Kurosaki slips from Uryuu's hold and collapses back into the river. Uryuu is too stunned to move for a moment. Just when he was about to give in and let Kurosaki do whatever the hell he wanted for a change, the boy finally grew a sense of responsibility and did what Uryuu was too weak to do. Irony is a bitter aftertaste that he swallows down.

Kurosaki resurfaces with a gasp and shakes water from his hair like a drenched dog. He gives Uryuu an apologetic glance and receives a dismissive shrug in return. It's not Kurosaki's fault that Uryuu isn't comfortable with any of this. Actually, it's more than a little flattering and reassuring how Kurosaki seems equally as drawn to him. In a perfect world, they would have zero reservations about going at it like wild rabbits in the bushes all day long. The only limitation would be their recovery rates.

Flushing at that, Uryuu watches Kurosaki dive for flat pebbles and skip them down the shifting surface with little luck. He feels the beginnings of a ridiculous idea coming on, the ones Uryuu normally shoots down as soon as they crop up. This time he doesn't want to give in to his longstanding inhibitions.

"Kurosaki."

"Hm?"

He turns towards Uryuu in time to take a splash to the face. Spluttering, Kurosaki wipes his eyes and stares at him. It takes every ounce of practice to keep from cracking a smirk at Kurosaki's baffled expression. His mouth moves as if he is about to ask if Uryuu really just did that, but then he smiles wickedly instead.

Hell breaks loose as they spiral into a frantic bid for biggest splash. Uryuu skirts a cresting wave before it sloshes over him and shoots a small but precise jet in retaliation. Kurosaki's chuckle gurgles as it hits. Uryuu's black hair falls forward with a dodge and obscures his vision long enough for Kurosaki to dive, coming up behind him with a forceful shove of liquid that nearly bowls him over. It's Uryuu's turn to be sneaky. He takes a long breath and kicks upstream to circle around but his ankle is caught before he makes it past. Kurosaki drags him to the surface and laughs as Uryuu struggles like a hooked fish, both grinning like idiots.

"Let go, Kurosaki," he huffs from the exertion, tasting the fresh river on his exposed teeth. Uryuu can't remember the last time he was happy enough to smile this widely. "This is a splash-fight, not a wrestling match."

"Says you."

Uryuu yelps when Kurosaki yanks him sideways and flings him underwater. Flailing to regain his footing, he breaches the surface and immediately tackles Kurosaki. They touch the riverbed with a momentum made gentle by buoyancy. Uryuu risks a bit of sting to open his eyes and gauge his reaction to this attack, seeing Kurosaki has done the same.

Maybe it's the reverberant silence around them, or the dusky blue dimming the light, but Uryuu's mind quiets as he floats with Kurosaki for a mere handful of seconds. Time slows as details filter through his thoughts. The smooth waving of Kurosaki's orange hair. His brown eyes illuminated in a flickering shaft of light. Energized blood tinting his skin with rich color.

They reluctantly separate long enough to get their heads back above water. The crisp air is sweetened by craving. As the pace of their breathing slows, Uryuu takes his wrist and leads them back to shore. Kurosaki wordlessly follows, eyes glued to him. He stops when they reach a wide patch of lush grass, vibrant in the full shine of the early evening sun. When Uryuu pulls him down to sit and leans close to start a deliberate kiss, Kurosaki responds to it before remembering why he shouldn't.

"Kissing doesn't have to lead to anything else," Uryuu tells him as Kurosaki retreats just far enough to keep their lips from touching. He can already feel Kurosaki's warm breaths speeding up again. "Let's prove here and now that we have enough restraint to be alone together."

"But we don't," he grumbles with a longing look at Uryuu's mouth.

Determined to prove him wrong, Uryuu wraps a palm around the damp curve of his shoulder and tugs him back in. Kurosaki doesn't push him away. Too busy reacting to Uryuu's tongue tickling at the edge of his lower lip. He gives in with a whispered mumble that sounds suspiciously like 'fuck it' and sets one of his hands against the back of Uryuu's neck.

That familiar fuzziness settles over his brain as Kurosaki puts all of his talent and focus into the kiss. Uryuu swears he gets better each time. This time Uryuu doesn't let it smother his better judgment and demand that he shove the boy over to rut against him until they're both too tired to move. Very carefully, he keeps it in check, sensing Kurosaki doing the same.

He hears the dull snapping of grass beside him and cracks an eyelid to see it is Kurosaki digging a fist into the thick blades. Something about this fact twists hot and tight in Uryuu's stomach; he draws back to gasp in a shocked breath. Kurosaki seems just as stunned, eyes widened and mouth panting. And Uryuu can see how much Kurosaki wants to tackle him, but he doesn't.

They share a knowing look as they will themselves to wind down. Slowly, Kurosaki shifts to lie on his back beside him. Uryuu follows after a brief pause. He can feel a fine tension in Kurosaki's arm resting beside his. Their knuckles touch and Uryuu twitches. Even in this calm state they can barely hold it together.

"See? Not so hard after all," Uryuu sarcastically murmurs. Kurosaki releases a held breath in a strained laugh. "This weekend will be a breeze."

* * *

It starts with an awkward greeting at the restaurant door, followed by a stretch of awkward silence extending until after they order their meals, and finally ending in an awkward exchange of glances that tips them into quiet laughter at their obvious tension. Ichigo expected as much for a first date, but it's not really something you can prepare yourself for. Ishida sips his drink while Ichigo fiddles with his straw wrapper. Neither of them knows what to say. Killed any strong Hollow lately? How'd you do on that literature exam? There's a sale on organic eggs at the market tomorrow.

"Kurosaki, you really don't have to try so hard," he breaks that bleak train of thought to assure. "Just say whatever comes to mind like you always do."

"Ugh, I know, I know." Rubbing hands over his face, Ichigo forces himself to relax a bit. "I've thought about this so many times and now it feels too surreal. Being on an actual date with you is…"

"You've thought about it?"

"Yeah," he drops his hands and straightens to look at him. "I keep telling you I've liked you for a while, Ishida, so it'd be great if you could stop acting so surprised."

Ishida falls silent with a thoughtful expression. Their food is brought out and they start to dig in before either of them speaks again. Ichigo watches him eat from the corner of his eye, wondering what the hell he's pondering so deeply between those dainty bites of chicken. Preparing to prattle about any and everything if only to fill the space, he nearly chokes when Ishida beats him to it.

"I've thought about sleeping with you," he carefully enunciates. Ishida's eyes stay glued to a random spot on the lacquered wood table, chopsticks left idle between his fingers, as he continues in a firm but quiet tone. "I've thought about what you would say or how you might act in those situations, but I never considered this type of thing. I never daydreamed of us eating together or watching TV, taking walks or shopping. I just wanted you so much that I didn't have patience for imagining anything else. And you're telling me you've been doing the opposite…"

"I've thought about you, too. Like that," Ichigo blurts before this goes where he suspects it's headed. The last thing he wants is for Ishida to start feeling unnecessarily guilty. "Not in the same ways as you, but it still counts. I don't care if you weren't pining after me like I—"

 _Like I was for you_.

Ishida's gaze snaps up at that, eyes pinched in remorse. Ichigo inwardly curses.

"Kurosaki, I—"

"I like you, Ishida." Ichigo says it so casually but it still seems to carry the weight of a vow. "You don't have to say it back yet if you don't want to, but I wanted to say it properly once. Get it out of the way. Let's just talk about something else. It's not important. Okay?"

But the air remains thick around them. Ishida adopts a subtle slouch to his shoulders and won't look at Ichigo for a succession of anxious moments. He stares at his plate while Ichigo struggles to swallow his own food against the swelling lump in his throat. Seconds from reverting to his former idea of inane chattering, he is once again interrupted by Ishida before he can form the words.

"I like you, too," he almost whispers. Then, seeming to gather his resolve, he raises his face and his voice to repeat, "I like you, Ichigo!"

They both freeze as they realize it was way too loud and everyone in the restaurant probably heard them. Several adults watch them with widened eyes. Kids giggle behind their hands one table over. An elderly woman two booths down claps with a broad grin. Ichigo even thinks he hears someone say, "Good for you, sonny!" If all of that wasn't enough, Ichigo nearly dies blushing because Ishida used his given name—most likely on accident—while showing such a sincere expression. It takes every ounce of willpower not to dive across the short table and drag him into a crushing hug.

"T-that's…awesome," Ichigo finally chokes out with a weak smile. "Good to know."

"Yes. Glad that's established."

"Yeah."

"So…" Ishida tries for a casual tone but hints of embarrassment still color it. Ichigo isn't much better off. "Um."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I was going to say, 'So, I guess this is the part where we talk about movies or music or something,' but then I remembered that neither of us really has much time for things like that between school and protecting the town and I in particular wouldn't have the funds for them anyway—Unless I didn't want to eat for a week—Not that I'm implying can't pay for my meal!"

"Take a breath!" He bites his lip to keep from laughing. Ishida is totally the type to ramble when he's nervous. "I asked you out, so of course I want to pay. We don't have to talk about that other bullshit, either. 'Just say whatever comes to mind like you always do', remember?"

"Right."

They go back to finishing their food for a few minutes. All the while Ichigo is replaying the sound of his name in Ishida's voice and wondering why it never occurred to him to take that step even after everything they've already done. Maybe on some level he felt they weren't emotionally ready for the upgrade in familiarity yet. Now that the line has been crossed, though, there's no way he's going back.

"Uryuu."

He says it mostly to see how he'll react. Ishida jumps, dropping one of his chopsticks onto his plate with a dull clatter, and looks at Ichigo with flared eyes as if he just noticed a drooling tiger right behind him.

"W-what is it?"

"Nothing," Ichigo grins. "Just trying it out."

Ishida attempts a glare as he picks up his utensil but he doesn't complain about it. Ichigo finishes his food first, as usual, and leans his chin on a palm to watch Ishida. They've done this routine at school enough times before that the boy should really be used to it by now, but the longer Ichigo stares the more Ishida fidgets. Finally he sets down his chopsticks and declares himself finished even though there's still a bit of his meal left.

He's avoiding eye contact again and Ichigo is reminded of a similar uncharacteristic shyness in the locker room last week. Before that mysterious change came over Ishida and his inner author took control. Thinking of the last time they really fought about anything, he wonders if it's because Ishida is not yet used to this new civility between them. They do have an extensive track record of bitching at each other instead of actually listening or discussing.

Putting those musings aside as they prepare to leave, Ichigo begins to wonder what will happen next. He's not ready to end the date but he also doesn't want to push his luck and ask for too much. So far it hasn't gone all that well. If anything, it feels like the uneasiness has increased between them.

They make it to Ichigo's house before he can think of anything to say. The street lamp in front of his house flickers as sporadically as his racing heart, casting wriggling shadows that match the anxious worms in his stomach. So when Ishida turns to him and starts to say goodnight, Ichigo panics and blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

"Wanna come upstairs?" Ishida's mouth parts in mild surprise, raising a dubious eyebrow. Ichigo imagines that in his desperation he must seem to have ulterior motives. "Not for that—I mean for tea or something. Just to talk. We've barely said anything to each other all night."

"That sounds…nice."

"Really? Okay, but you remember how my dad is, so keep your guard up. And Yuzu might try to force-feed you her newest recipe. Karin will probably quiz you about Quincy stuff now that she knows she's part-Quincy, too. She's been bugging me about that lately. I told her to nag Dad instead but—"

"I think I'll survive," Ishida shuts him up with an amused smirk and a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I _have_ met your family before. Let's go."

Full of trepidation, Ichigo pushes open the door and announces them. When no one answers, he swiftly leads the way towards the stairs in the hopes that they can squeak by without incident. Just as his foot touches the first step, a whoosh of air alerts him to an imminent attack and he tackles Ishida to safety as Isshin goes sailing over them.

"Dammit, Dad! Can't you see I'm with a friend?" Ichigo jumps up to shout in irritation. He mutters a quick apology as he offers a hand to help Ishida up. "Try to reign in your crazy for five seconds so you don't kill him!"

"Aw, don't be like that, m'boy!" he guffaws from the floor. Flipping to a stand, he drops a heavy arm around Ishida's shoulders and beams at him. "He's family, too, after all. Any male relative of ours is subject to the Kurosaki rough-housing policy."

"Distant relative," growls Ichigo as he shoves his father away from his boyfriend. "And only by law, not by blood."

"You shouldn't be so cold, Ichi-nii," Yuzu chides, joining them from the living room. "Being all technical without thinking about how Ishida-kun feels about it. Geez."

"It's not—You don't understand. Ishida is..." He trails off, frustrated for not being able to explain. There's no way they'll get it unless Ichigo tells them exactly what Ishida asked him to keep secret. Deflating, he grabs Ishida and heads upstairs as he mutters, "Never mind. Do me a favor and pretend we're not here."

"Ah, he's being all moody again, Yuzu!"

"What should we do, Daddy?"

"It might be time for another intervention. Let's get Karin to help."

"Good idea!"

Ichigo sighs and gladly slams his door on their scheming. Hopefully Karin will smack some sense into them and he won't have to deal with it anymore tonight. Not only is his date with Ishida going horribly wrong, but his stomach is starting to hurt on top of everything. Maybe he shouldn't have ordered the shrimp.

"They're lively as always," comments Ishida as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"Too fucking lively if you ask me. They're probably listening in at the door again."

"We'd better behave ourselves, then. Such a shame."

Ishida smiles at his stunned expression and invitingly pats the spot beside him. Ichigo walks over and collapses next to him, bumping shoulders in a comfortable way. They stay like that for a while. The quiet doesn't seem so nerve-racking anymore. Reaching for Ishida's hand, he pulls it to rest atop his thigh and idly traces the shallow lines of his palm. He can feel blue eyes darting over him in silent question.

"I've always liked your hands," he answers without looking up from his task. "Something about the shape and the way they move. The things they can do."

"If you're impressed now, wait until I show you what else they can do."

A happy zing of heat flares up at the flirty tone of his voice. But then it hits his aching stomach and even the wicked glint in Ishida's eyes can't tune it out. He leans forward intending to kiss Ichigo but a wave of nausea has him turning away.

"Shit, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"What?"

"It's probably something in the food. Do you feel okay?"

"I'm fine. Should I get you some water? Or do you have any medication for this?"

"No, I—Oh god!"

Ichigo leaps from the bed and darts down the hall to the bathroom just in time. He doesn't even think to shut the door behind him. Sure enough, that pesky shrimp rebels until he banishes it to the bottom of the toilet bowl. It's over several agonizing minutes later and Ichigo flushes before leaning against the bathtub behind him.

Seconds after the last twinge of nausea passes, Ishida walks in with a wash cloth and wets it at the sink. He kneels in front of Ichigo and presses the cool, damp fabric to his forehead with a neutral expression. Embarrassed beyond words, he starts to say Ishida doesn't have to do this, that he can handle it himself and it might be best if Ishida just went home, but the moment he opens his mouth Ishida pushes a glass of water against it and orders him to sip it. While Ichigo takes the glass in a trembling hand, Ishida continues to press the cloth to his face, soaking up the patches of perspiration and wiping away any residue.

"Your father gave me some seltzer tablets but you should rinse the gastric acid out first. Can you stand?"

Nodding, Ichigo does as instructed and swallows some of the water in measured sips. Ishida helps him stand and then patiently waits for him to brush his teeth. He even guides Ichigo with a hand at his waist down the hall back to his room when he's done. This time he sits on the bed while Ishida folds his legs under himself on the floor in front of Ichigo and sweeps a critical eye over him. Ichigo is starting to feel like an invalid but it's actually not terrible. He's wondering if this is how old fogeys feel in retirement homes full of hot nurses.

Nimble fingers tear a small square package before reaching towards him and for an instant Ichigo's boggled brain goes straight into the gutter. Something about a combination of Ishida on his knees in his bedroom and that packet looking too much like it could hold a condom has him imagining things he really shouldn't. Seeing it in his expression, Ishida smiles and shakes his head.

"I don't know where that thought came from," Ichigo starts to say as his face heats up. "It's not like I was expecting you to—"

"Given the circumstances, we should probably try to keep your heart rate down. Otherwise...I probably would." Ichigo stares in astonishment at that statement as Ishida tips two white tablets into the cup he just took from slackened fingers. "Try to drink all of it before it stops fizzing."

Ishida gets up and leaves the room, leaving Ichigo to gulp the bitter medicine down. It roils in his stomach for a moment before relieving its lingering unease. He presses a palm to his belly and lies back to stare at the ceiling in relief. Although Ichigo can't really imagine tonight being any less romantic—maybe if he had puked _on_ Ishida—it doesn't seem that bad anymore. Ishida doesn't seem to mind it much. At eighteen he already has the clinical efficiency of a seasoned physician. Isshin couldn't have done a better job if he tried. Plus, having Ishida take care of him comes with the added benefit of sexual innuendo.

Things could be worse.

He hears the door close and sees the overhead light goes off, leaving only the desk lamp on, but he doesn't have the energy to lift his head and find out why. Ishida comes into view soon enough, propping a knee on the bed to hover over him. Taking Ichigo's pulse and then checking his pupillary response with the light on his phone, Ishida might be overdoing it now but he's not about to complain. When he asks how Ichigo is feeling, he responds with a grin and pulls Ishida down to lie beside him.

Feeling gently daring, Ichigo pushes his luck and snuggles against him. Since he fully expects Ishida to pull away and gripe about being attacked any second now, Ichigo simply enjoys this while he can. Ishida's intoxicating scent greets him, strongest at the nape of his neck. The soft tickle of black hair on the top of his nose sparks a pleasant twinge in his chest. Warmth seeps surprisingly fast through their clothes.

The seconds keep ticking by and Ishida stays still in his arms. Ichigo can feel his slow breaths in the rise and fall of his chest. All of this is so strange even as it is absolutely perfect; it's so calming he's starting to get drowsy.

"You're not gonna yell at me and run off?" he whispers into Ishida's hair.

"No." His hands find Ichigo's, resting against Ishida's middle, and settle firmly over them. "Not anymore."

"I might fall asleep like this."

"That's okay."

"My dad could get the wrong idea if you spend the night."

"You mean the _right_ idea?"

"Good point."

"He already knows," Ishida casually announces in a neutral tone. At Ichigo's sudden tension he embellishes, "I asked to borrow a stethoscope and arm cuff to check your blood pressure; that's why I left earlier. Instead of lending them to me, he dismissed my concern as overreaction and proceeded to give me a shortened version of 'the talk'—"

"Oh, god! I am so sorry, Uryuu," he moans, vowing to punch his father in his big mouth next time he sees him. Ishida twists around in his hold to face him fully and Ichigo notices he has already taken off his glasses. "I swear he is such a moron sometimes. And what was that bullshit about you being a relative if he knows about us?"

Snorting at Ichigo's annoyance, Ishida shrugs and says, "I assured him we would be safe."

Smiling wider than the topic warrants, Ishida gazes at him with more affection than Ichigo has ever seen him show before. It warms him even more than their continued contact and he can't help inching closer to touch their closed mouths together. It becomes a series of kisses that they manage to keep light.

"I can probably persuade him it's not what it looks like," Ichigo offers when they separate. "Though I've already mentioned I'm not really into girls, I never told him you and I were—"

"You told your father that!?"

"Yeah. Well, it came up so I confirmed what he'd been wondering anyway. Of course Karin overheard us and probably spilled to Yuzu."

"Amazing. If I ever told Ryuuken, he would..."

"Maybe he'd be cool with it. You never know." Ishida shoots him a flat look that makes Ichigo laugh. "What? Have you asked him? Dropped any hints?"

"No, but—"

"If he's half as smart as you, he already knows. The fact that he hasn't said anything just means it's not a big deal."

Ishida contemplates that but doesn't respond. Another soft kiss, this time to Ishida's furrowed brow, and Ichigo is too relaxed to cling to consciousness any longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Final Chapter! This story is officially complete and it's been a fun one to write. Shout out to everyone who reads and reviews my stuff! You guys keep me on track with these fics more than you realize :D

* * *

 **VII**

* * *

Nine o'clock greets Ichigo in an awkwardly pleasant manner. Ishida is still in his arms, softly breathing and completely oblivious to what his presence has done to Ichigo even in sleep. The hot flush of intense arousal has him sweating into his clothes despite the lack of blanket to cover them. His hard-on is lightly pressed to the small jut of offered backside and if Ishida felt in the locker room just a fraction of what Ichigo is feeling now, he has no idea how the boy was able to hold back as long as he did.

Reluctantly disengaging their entangled limbs, Ichigo groans when this minimal sensation sends a slush of dizzy pleasure to his head. He claps a hand to his mouth at the loud sound. Miraculously, it doesn't seem to wake Ishida. He sneaks into the bathroom down the short hall and makes quick work of finishing what their innocent contact started in a long shower. It is only when he emerges clean, dressed, and no longer distressed that he notices the time. They're already two hours late for school because he forgot to charge his phone, which has been his primary alarm for the past two years.

Bad news: Ishida is going to be pissed when he wakes up because they'll have to skip school today. Good news: they have the house to themselves for several hours, so they won't have to answer any prying questions. Ichigo decides the best way to soften the bad news is by making Ishida breakfast. Luckily for both of them, Yuzu has taught him a range of basic recipes well enough that he's reasonably sure he won't accidentally poison them. As if he needs more stomach problems after last night. Yet, as Ichigo cooks a simple meal he realizes their first date will be a fond memory because of it. The fact that Ishida so readily took care of him is still pretty boggling…in the best way.

Taking a wide tray upstairs, Ichigo mentally debates whether he is bold enough to wake Ishida the way he really wants to. He walks in and sees the boy has spread out across the bed to fill up the empty space. Dark hair spills messily across one side of his face and his shirt is riding up to show part of his defined belly. Ichigo sets the food on his desk and perches carefully beside him. A small smile spreads as he watches Ishida sleep just for a moment. Seeming so peaceful and vulnerable, this side of his boyfriend is a type of fresh insight, a peek at his purest and most defenseless face.

Ichigo is reaching a hand out to gently brush the strands from his eyes before he thinks about what he is doing. Ishida stirs at the touch, sighing a short hum but not quite waking. Leaning close and murmuring quietly, Ichigo calls his given name. The one he is still so unused to thinking, much less saying aloud. He says it again, a little louder, and Ishida's eyes blink slowly open at last.

Those bleary blue eyes focus on him for an instant before closing again.

"Hey, don't go back to sleep," he chuckles with a touch to Ishida's arm. "Wake up, Uryuu."

"Why?"

"Breakfast."

"Edible?"

"Very."

"Hm," Ishida grunts as though he isn't sure about that. "Later."

"No, it's eggs, bacon, and toast. They won't taste good later." Grabbing a plate to hold in front of Ishida's nose, Ichigo wafts the delicious smell towards him as encouragement. "Get it while it's hot."

"That's what he said."

"What?"

Snorting at his own joke and the confusion it caused, Ishida smoothly rolls to a sitting position and scrutinizes the plate. He takes a slice of bacon and tilts his head back to fold an entire strip into his mouth at once. Ichigo's mouth falls open a little at the imagery. He watches Ishida break his fast with the slow grace of a cat while Ichigo absentmindedly munches his food. All the times they've eaten together, he's never seen Ishida do it quite like this. Even the way he sips his juice seems somehow…deliberate.

The reason becomes clear as soon as they finish: Ishida mutters a low, "Thanks for the meal," and pulls him forward by the front of his shirt to surprise him with a deep, savory kiss. Although he so recently got off to these kinds of thoughts—or maybe because of that—Ichigo's excitement sings in his blood so fast it makes his head spin. He doesn't resist when Ishida drags him to lie down on top of him.

"You're not mad about missing school?" he huffs as they separate to pull off their shirts. "It might look weird, us skipping on the same day."

"Don't care right now," comes the concise response. "Take off your pants."

Standing to comply with the breathless order, Ichigo openly ogles his boyfriend as he mirrors the action from the bed. The way Ishida rolls his hips to shimmy out of his tight jeans has Ichigo fumbling his zipper for a few precious seconds. He spares a few more wondering why this is suddenly fine when they have been trying _not_ to give in to their urges since they agreed to get to know each other better first. But Ichigo would be lying if he said he wasn't damn sure he already knows Ishida pretty well. Still, he wants to be sure.

"Is this okay?"

Ichigo mentally winces at the question, wondering if it falls under the category of 'sounding needy' that Ishida snapped at him about when they kissed in his apartment. Before he can try to take it back, Ishida rolls to switch their positions. Ishida braces over him, close enough that his hair tickles along Ichigo's cheek, close enough that their noses graze. He looks straight into Ichigo's eyes and purrs a set of questions that Ichigo answers with short hums.

"Your father is at work? Your sisters are at school? We're alone for a while?" All contingents confirmed, Ishida smiles. "Want to try something new?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. First, it's my turn to shower."

"What? No, wait!" Ichigo tries to catch him but Ishida is up and out of the room like a shot. He follows him down the hall in time to have the bathroom door shut in front of him. "You don't need to shower, I don't mind! You smell fine."

"It's not about smell," Ishida returns over the sudden spray of water. "You'll understand in a few minutes."

He likes the sound of that, even if the thought of waiting is far from ideal. Either way the choice is out of his hands now. In the meantime, he cleans up the dishes from breakfast and sets his phone to charge. He's in the middle of checking his e-mail when Ishida walks back in and hugs him from behind, water-warm and soap-scented. Ichigo grins, dropping his cell to turn around and accept the kiss Ishida initiates.

There doesn't seem to be an ounce of hesitation in the way he grabs the waistline of Ichigo's boxers and yanks them down to pool around his ankles. Those slim hands lock onto either side of his hips and guide him to sit on the bed as Ishida lowers to the floor. This is looking a lot like it could potentially become what Ichigo momentarily mistook last night and—Sure enough, Ishida is blithely licking the edge of his erection.

"Wait wait wait," Ichigo rambles in mild panic, grasping Ishida's shoulders to emphasize his words. He looks up with blatant bewilderment, understandably. "I want you to, Uryuu—holy _fuck_ do I want it—but I want to do you first."

"Why?"

"Because for one, I woke up hard this morning while holding you so I already, uh…took care of that." Ishida cracks a smirk at Ichigo's light blush. "And it's only fair that we make it even and, um. Well, you know what I mean."

"Not really."

"Anyway, I'll be more focused and learn faster if I didn't just come."

"That, at least, I can agree with."

"Okay. Good." Nodding as the compromise is struck, he pulls Ishida to sit beside him and takes a steadying breath. "Not to mention I've been fantasizing about going down on you since I read that story in your notebook."

"You've been very patient," Ishida murmurs as he leans in to seal their lips. His hands rise to cup Ichigo's face as he deepens the kiss, reminding him of his tongue's dexterity. He pulls away too soon. "There's our lingual warm-up."

"How should I start?"

"Do whatever feels natural and I'll guide you along the way." At Ichigo's uncertain frown, he adds, "It's easier than you think. Remember how fast I lost it after the soccer match, with just your hands?"

The memory heats his blood and helps soothe his anxiety. Since hesitance is not in his nature, Ichigo checks his resolve and goes for it. He pushes Ishida to lean back against the wall, propped on a pillow, and starts a slow trail of kisses from mouth to navel. Shifting underwear from hips, his heart giddily stutters to see how much this is already affecting Ishida. Fingers close around and gently tug. He nudges his tongue against the belly button right above where Ishida actually wants it, winning a short moan for the tease.

Emboldened by the sound, Ichigo stops pumping but keeps the grip to hold him steady. He thinks about what he wanted to do in the locker room before Ishida stopped him. Imagines what he would want to feel in this situation. Part of him wants to take it all at once and shock the hell out of Ishida, but his better judgment tells him that would be a mistake. Ishida is quiet except for his quickened breathing. He's prepared to let Ichigo figure it out for himself rather than give him a step-by-step tutorial. Something about this deference has Ichigo all the more eager to blow his mind.

"No teeth, right?" he glances at Ishida to joke.

"Definitely not." Ichigo makes him show his teeth instead, bright on a bitten lip as he flicks his tongue against the head. He feels Ishida's thighs tense under his hands as he hisses. "N-not so much so fast. Unless you want to end this soon."

Ichigo instantly decides that he really doesn't, so he backs off that sensitive area for now. Slowly making his way down, he tests and tries while watching Ishida for signs of discomfort or pleasure. Some things he does cause little groans or encouraging words. A few get shallow winces. Others have no effect at all. It's tricky and Ichigo thinks he's doing a decent job, but he wants to be _amazing_.

"Tell me, Uryuu."

"What you're doing is fi—"

"Fuck that," he snaps and pushes up to get closer. "I want to see you squirming and gasping. I want you so lost in it that you can't speak in anything other than breathless _fragments_ , damn it! Tell me how to ruin you."

"I think you just did," Ishida mutters more to himself. At Ichigo's warning glare, he relents, "All right, all right! The simple answer is: less licking and more sucking."

"I like hearing you say 'sucking'," Ichigo grins and scoots back down to do as instructed.

"That's good," he sighs and lets his head fall against the wall. "As much as you can, _slowly_. Use your tongue. Roll it, like you're eating an ice cream co—Oh! God, yes…That's good. Mnn. And. And you can use your hand to. To carefully palm my—Ahhn!"

It fits so neatly in his hand. Ichigo smoothes a thumb across it as he takes more of Ishida's cock into his mouth. Fascinated by the flavor as much as the jumping pulse he feels against his tongue, Ichigo almost doesn't notice how much this is turning him on, too. One of Ishida's hands digs into the blanket while the other combs and clings loosely to Ichigo's hair. He likes the light tug and trace of his fingers there, emphasizing what Ishida's low voice is asserting. The same message his arching body is spelling out for Ichigo so clearly.

"That's more like it," Ichigo pauses to praise. Ishida opens glossy eyes and peers at him with grateful wonder. "I just need a moment so I won't…"

They glance down at Ichigo's straining erection at the same time. He dons a sheepish smile at Ishida's surprise.

"I'm close, too." Ishida leans forward to draw him in and murmur against his ear, "Let's do it at the same time. I want to come with you in my mouth."

Ichigo shivers at the imagery as well as the shockingly sultry words. Speechless, he can only nod eagerly in agreement. They take a long moment to kiss and touch, cooling off while keeping warm. Then Ishida lies on his side bent at the knees and waits for Ichigo to mirror him in the reverse. He already knows this isn't going to last long. The second Ishida touches his dick a sharp pressure tightens at the base of his spine as pleasure ricochets through his entire body. He moans around the length between his lips and starts sucking like their lives depend on it.

Ishida swallows him down in one careful motion. He even has the foresight to hold onto Ichigo's hip with a grip firm enough to keep a compulsive thrust under control. Ichigo's eyes nearly cross before they shut on their own and refuse to open again. He can't filter the enthusiastic noises he's making, the same ones he hears coming from Ishida. It's absolute chaos, complete sensory overload. They've fought and won dozens of battles, large and small, but all of them combined couldn't create this kind of wild elation.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they are cleaned up, fully-dressed, and parked on the sofa downstairs watching daytime TV. Ishida is fighting a bad case of the giggles while Ichigo cracks jokes about the awful soap opera they're not really paying attention to. Then he compares Ishida to the melodramatic male lead perpetually trapped in ridiculous situations due to his nerdiness. Ishida lobs a pillow at his head and Ichigo just about dies laughing at the look on his face when the projectile is returned. Glasses skewed from the impact, Ishida snatches them off to set on a side table before attacking Ichigo, defenseless with mirth.

They wind up sprawled on the floor, dizzy from the fight and unavoidable chuckles. Ishida is propped against the couch straightening his hair and Ichigo inches closer to rest his head on the boy's lap. His movements still the instant he registers what Ichigo has done. Waiting with bated breath for Ishida's reaction to the strangely intimate gesture, Ichigo sighs when he gets gentle fingers tracing across his scalp. It's more soothing than he wants to admit.

A truth finds Ichigo in this moment. Nothing earth-shattering or even unexpected, but it steals his breath nonetheless. It starts a chain reaction of sparks and pressure in his chest. Sets his mind racing through so many futures, searching for the one he needs to make happen. The one where he and Ishida never have to live apart or lose each other.

Seeming to sense Ichigo's sudden tension, Ishida's hand pauses to rest on his shoulder.

"What is it?" Sitting up, Ichigo meets his worried gaze with a serious expression, which further furrows Ishida's brow. "What's wrong, Ichigo?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just realized something."

"What?"

He reaches out to take Ishida's hand in his. Ichigo doesn't understand why he must hold something of his boyfriend while he says this, but it's somehow very important. Releasing a shaky breath, he searches for the right words.

"I don't like you. I thought I did, but I really don't." Ishida's face closes and Ichigo knows he sucks at expressing himself but _damn_ is he stupid sometimes. Before it gets worse, he blurts out the rest, "I mean I don't _just_ like you anymore: I think I love you. No, I definitely love you, Uryuu."

His mouth parts in surprise and he stares at Ichigo for a moment before attempting a reply, "I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he hastily adds. "I-if you don't feel the same, you don't have to say anything at all. I just wanted to say it once."

"Ichigo, that—"

"And it's not the sex! I mean it's not only the sex—which is fucking amazing don't get me wrong—but I would love you even if we could never be together like that. Plus, I know it's weird because we haven't even been dating that long but we've known each other so long. I'll say it again tomorrow after the effects wear off. Or the day after. I'll say it every day if you want me to, Uryuu. I'll—"

"Ichigo!" Clicking his jaw obediently shut, he waits for Ishida's response. "I believe you."

Whatever else he was about to add is halted by the sound of the front door opening and Karin announcing her arrival. Ichigo forgot she gets out of school early today because of an afternoon tournament. He starts to pull his hand from Ishida's, still keeping the boy's guidelines in mind, but he is held firm. Ichigo looks at him uncertainly but sees only determination in return.

Just as Karin walks into the living room, Ishida leans forward to whisper something in his ear before kissing him deliberately and in full view of Ichigo's sister.

"I don't like you anymore, either."

The warmest light pours into Ichigo and he raises a hand to smooth over Ishida's cheek. They don't part until Karin speaks in a bored tone.

"Ugh, guys come on. At least text me if you're going to be making out with Ishida-kun in the living room. No offense, but you're my brother, Ichigo, and I don't want to see that."

Brimming with happiness, Ichigo beams at her and asks, "So you'd want to see it if I wasn't your brother?"

She reddens and Ishida snickers.

"No! Shut up, you pervert," grumbles Karin as she passes them to go into the kitchen.

"I guess that means Karin thinks you're hot, Uryuu."

"She's not the only one, I hope."

"Definitely not," Ichigo murmurs as he leans in for another kiss.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

"Are you nuts? I'm not doing that. You first!"

"I thought you said you wanted to act out some of my stories."

"I do," Ichigo glares at the object in Uryuu's hand, "Just not that one. Why can't we do a different one?"

"Because you chose last time and it's my turn." Rolling his eyes when Ichigo remains hesitant, Uryuu sets down the bottle of lube and rests comforting hands on his shoulders. "It's really not that difficult. If you let me take my time, it will be _very_ pleasant for you. I know what I'm doing, Ichigo."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Like I need to picture you doing this sort of stuff with other guys. I mean, of course I don't think less of you at all but I can't say it doesn't irk me that I didn't get there first." Ichigo sighs and runs a hand through his own hair. "Be the first one to explore those things with you. If only I had the guts to approach you sooner—"

"Ichigo."

"It eats at me sometimes, honestly. I should've—"

" _Ichigo_ ," he snaps to get his attention before the man builds up steam. "When did I say I was ever with anyone else?"

His face goes slack as he considers that. Ichigo wonders if this is a joke, except Uryuu doesn't have that mischievous gleam in his eyes when he's trying to be sly. It can't be true, though. Can it?

"Are you saying that you haven't...That you've never...?"

"Nope."

"But! But what about all your stories!? You—"

"Have an extensive knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, an overactive imagination, and years worth of naughty feelings about you." Uryuu holds a finger in front of his lips to silence what was going to become a flurry of stupid questions. "I told you on our first date, didn't I? I've always thought about _you_ like that. To me, you were the only man in the world."

All conversation ceases in favor of rewarding that uncharacteristically romantic admission with a very satisfying make-out session. Ichigo starts to push off Uryuu's shirt, but his hands are halted before he can finish the job. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at Ichigo.

"What?" Groaning as Uryuu picks up the lube with a smirk, Ichigo resigns himself to his fate. "Fine, I'll do it. Only because I trust you and I know you'll do it better than me anyway."

"Glad you're seeing reason. Now take off your pants and relax."

Ichigo grumbles as he follows the request, hiding a giddy grin as he sinks to his knees.


End file.
